Dear Death

Where is the purpose of this malady for which has tainted my soul?
How am I to heal my tattered and weary wounds?
With no simple antidote nor precious tending to ease the pain,

Even as, through the grace of God and time, my heart begins to show hope.
Maybe even strength. The very source of my anguish reveals the horrid truth.
Again spreading despair until each heart beat aches from the strain.

Disease would be a blessed retreat from this horrid affliction.
For the agony I feel, sometimes unbearably, grows with each new visit.
Taunting me with many remaining years still to live.

Will this torn portion of my ragged and distressed soul never become whole?
How many more rips will he bring until there is no more left to take?
Will the very cause of my suffering be the antidote that Death will give?

Death, why must you continue to take the ones I love the most?
Carve my heart out with your dagger and I would feel less pain than this.

Pass over the few that may remain, your embrace need not be for them.
I stand with open arms lustfully yearning to be the next to feel your kiss.