The Beauty of Death

I stare into the soul of death: She has eyes like nothing I have seen before, And she exhibits her wrath by staring right back. She knows what she is doing—cold; Merciless. Her body coils around me, And with every tighten I feel her taking more of my life. But I am resigned; I feel nothing. Let her—a bringer of death; a keeper of souls— Escort me to the Valley where I shall live out my days: In the depths of hell, for I am not free of sin. She will join me one day And we shall go hand in hand: The Magpie and the Snake, As friends of deceit and cunning. Collectors Of all those lost. So I stare into the soul of death, Reassured because I know this is how it should be.