Death

Death will come knocking at my door, it will be ready to steal and forever take away my soul.

I feel the days go by, and I fear the day that I will die.

Feeling helpless I sometimes cry, knowing that death will come without a fight, without a warning, with all of its might.

Am I seeking in dismay my doom, do I dare not ask, will death come in the light of day or in the dark, will I be awake or will I find someday myself laying in my tomb, where I can never escape my fate, though once I came to life in a mother's womb.