There will come a dark day,
As the candles grow delicate,
And your body finally feels lifes gravity,
When you must solemnly discuss,
With your kin and comrades,
About which kind of death you wish,
Ordained is the schedule,
But not so the modus operandi,

Do you run and yell impotently?
And be torn from the mortal coil by scythes force?
Do you have your time stolen by plague or happenstance?
And need to be carried beyond the styx by lifeless hands?
Or do you meet him calmly at your windowpane,
Take his cold hand and expire to the night?
These things must be prepared for,
Death is always approaching,

But will it be as a nightmare or old friend?
An ordeal or a release?

Comments
  1. spiceblogger says:

    And even Death,
    When she comes,
    Will not laud
    A victory over my head.
    I will greet her
    As a long-awaited friend
    And return, smiling,
    Into the dawn.

  2. Carol anne says:

    Fabulous poetry really enjoyed it! xo

  3. dharkanein says:

    This is beautiful. Such a subtle and emotional mention of the most harsh reality.

  4. A relaxing, painless sleep… into a surprising afterlife– would be nice.
    Art

  5. Loved it!❀️ So well written!

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