On Death

 
Oh fickle death, –
Much as we try to shake your grasp,
There are such moments where we would ask
To feel your cold determined touch,
When our suffering becomes such
That all we do is wait for you,
For that last breath, kind and true, 
When our greatest wish is swift release,
To slip away with gentle ease.
 
Oh cruel death, –
How is it you decide
When and whose time it is to die?
And by what means do you declare
The end, and is it always fair?
But fair is not a word you know,
In death we reap not what we sow,
And life is but a cloth we weave
To lay down softly at your feet.
 
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