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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1782603
I appear to love death, but I just am curious about it, and not afraid of it.
Death has come to me, and I must go. He looks so cold and bitter, I wonder why.Is it because he takes so many lives but is ALWAYS alone? I smile as he reaches out for me, and I see a glimmer in his eyes. Have I made Death smile inside? Was he happy for a few seconds? Can he be happy? We will never know about Death because he wont talk, he just takes lives and continues his work. Only until we meet him face to face will we know what Death is like. Til then, he will remain a cold, and bitter force.



Written 11/03/1989
© Copyright 2011 leighbee (leighbeehere at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1782603-Death-Comes