Death By Stereo Death For Life

A poem about death, for Delilah, canine extraordinaire- will you c/c?

I turn on the stereo; they’re playing dirges.
Everywhere I turn the scythed shadow emerges.
In the past, a tattooed arm that stole my innocence
reached out and grabbed me, then became my best defense.
For years I lived within the folds of his dark cloak,
like I was Death’s jester and life was just a joke.
The wraith was dispersed by a child’s laughter
but he came and took her back from me soon after.
Though he never won my love again, I did trust;
for we all turn to bones, and bones turn into dust,
no matter what precautions we take for our health,
in spite of faith and fortune, regardless of our wealth;
so it does not surprise me that he emerges…
I turned on the stereo; they’re playing dirges.

There are a couple of ruff spots *ouch, double bad pun only half intended*
one is the line ending in ‘soon after’ don’t like that much. Thanks guys.

LC, I could tell you that your meter needs to be smoothed throughout, because it does. I could tell you that you could sharpen some of your phrasing, because you could. I could take you to task for punctuation, but I won’t be doing that either. It isn’t that I don’t care about those things, because I do… deeply. But I care more about you, and you are hurting. I see that; I hear that. I’ve been there several times; I know that place. I have always had dogs, have always had to make the hard decisions. When I was a boy of 13, I found my beagle who’d been missing for three days in the brutal cold of January in the northeast. He’d been decapitated by the train running behind my house and the two parts, head and body, were frozen to the ground. I had to pry them… him… up, and put the parts in a garbage bag and then I found a little unfrozen patch on the other side of the track, down in the brambles and thorns, and dug the hole, his final resting place, and buried him. But not his memory, no not that. And then, in one of the great moments of irony that has come to color my life, I went to church and pretended that there was a God who heard my prayers. I never went again. Now I know that some fool with too much time on his hands will come through and blithely put up an ad on your page, and that some of the ones who call us friend will give me thumbs down for rambling on for so long, or because they can hide in the shadows of their own ignorant self-satisfaction, but I don’t care. I do care about you, And if I still thought there was a God to hear my pleas, I’d pray for you tonight. I can only hold you in my arms and mind while you cry… at least until the ground thaws.