Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Death – II

Death – II
I looked upon you, Death, and this I saw –
You too were serving, cog on turning wheel.
But since your duty seemed the darkest kind,
I asked you if you did resent or mind.

You answered, “No.  For every life I take,
Another then is born.   And though they cry,
The born do know that they, in turn, will die.
And often, I bring mercy – of escape.

How torturous life would be, if not for Death…
How much more suffering, that sees no end…
So Death indeed is Mercy, though we feel
He robs us, sans remorse, whom he lets live…

And yet, and yet – when robbed of those we love,
When left abandoned, in our disarray,
How much we wish that we could turn and say,
“You’ve come too early.  Give us yet awhile.”

There’s shock and grief – and both may be delayed.
For each must cope – and some have duties grave.
And yet, when Death has done his work and left,
Who then can truly cope – or then be brave?

For Death is final.  There is no return.
And all that’s left is grief and memory.
And Death may come when we expect him least.
And none can hide, nor ask him for relief.

2013 December 25th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York

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