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Poem

Death's life is dark and cold, preying on the weak, stealing the old
Occasionally quick, periodically slow
Concealed in dark corners where shadows don't go
When it steps into the light It hides in plain sight
A camouflaged line with a nefarious plight

Death's mother is the beginning, its father is time
Culminating an emanating paradigm
Neither he nor she just a pile of bone, feasting on flesh while the dying moan

Death dons a dark cloak derived from black widow hair
Which makes yours on your neck stand up in despair
Our destiny with its visit is a mortifying fact, death is life's final act
It keeps plugging away with its morbid work, into its eyes we are forbid to look

The poor try to pray, the rich try to pay
Some spend their whole lives just a running away
Mercy is pleaded for by the weak, distances are run by the strong
The measure of death's reach is infinitely long
Armed with the touch of a finger and a razor sharp scythe
We dance on a ledge called the edge of his knife

Cease your relentless search for loose boards in death's impenetrable fence
For your best defense is a unadulterated acceptance
Death's day does not end when the sun sets
An entity with no memory it never forgets
Grim is the reaper that spares no one
Death has been there since life has begun

3/22/07

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