365 Poems: November 19th, 2014

A Grave Subject

Who. Is. Death?

Is he a man with a cloak and a scythe

or a whisper dancing on your breath?

Is he always so close?

Does he seem far away?

Does he chase you around?

Do you go? Do you stay?

Maybe he’s always been there–

standing in the corner, waving hello

holding your hand as the days start to go.

And if he was,

would you know?

Or would you put it off

as a chill in the air?

Do you think that he’s lonely?

Do you think that he’s scared?

Who is Death?

Well, I’ll say that we really don’t know.

All we know is just how far some people will go.

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