When it’s my time to go, I want to greet Death as an old friend.
When he comes knocking at my door, I’ll look out the window, smile, and invite him in.
We’ll sit down together, and maybe have a cup of tea
When he stands up and goes to the door, and beckons me onward, I’ll put on my coat and hat and follow him without complaint.
As he walks me from this life to the next, we’ll reminisce, and laugh quietly together
When we’ve almost reached our destination, he turns, and puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me
He looks down, with an almost sheepish grin, and brushes nonexistent dust off of his crisp black suit
“I came for you many times,” he says. “But every time, I just couldn’t take you, not yet.”
“Why?” My answer echoes in the bright hallway
“You reached out to me as not many men do, or think to do. You lived your life, the very thing I exist on , with perfect intent. You lived like each day was your last, which is why many times, I came by accident to take you; I was confused as to why your particular soul’s flavor was so strong and sweet in my mouth, compared to the often bitter or tasteless. I came to realize, after many visits, that what I tasted was love. Not cloying or tart like imitations of it, but really love. Love for others, love for yourself, love for the world…”
As he trails off, it’s then that I reach out my hand, grasp his firmly in mine, and meet his eyes, as they swirl with electric clouds of everything I’ve known. I smile slightly, and he smiles back, shaking his head slightly as I turn and walk the rest of the shining hallway alone, wondering if I was the only man to ever teach Death himself, something about life.
When he comes knocking at my door, I’ll look out the window, smile, and invite him in.
We’ll sit down together, and maybe have a cup of tea
When he stands up and goes to the door, and beckons me onward, I’ll put on my coat and hat and follow him without complaint.
As he walks me from this life to the next, we’ll reminisce, and laugh quietly together
When we’ve almost reached our destination, he turns, and puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me
He looks down, with an almost sheepish grin, and brushes nonexistent dust off of his crisp black suit
“I came for you many times,” he says. “But every time, I just couldn’t take you, not yet.”
“Why?” My answer echoes in the bright hallway
“You reached out to me as not many men do, or think to do. You lived your life, the very thing I exist on , with perfect intent. You lived like each day was your last, which is why many times, I came by accident to take you; I was confused as to why your particular soul’s flavor was so strong and sweet in my mouth, compared to the often bitter or tasteless. I came to realize, after many visits, that what I tasted was love. Not cloying or tart like imitations of it, but really love. Love for others, love for yourself, love for the world…”
As he trails off, it’s then that I reach out my hand, grasp his firmly in mine, and meet his eyes, as they swirl with electric clouds of everything I’ve known. I smile slightly, and he smiles back, shaking his head slightly as I turn and walk the rest of the shining hallway alone, wondering if I was the only man to ever teach Death himself, something about life.
I love this poem. A lot. The End. It was so deep and ahhh . . . . I sat for an entire hour reflecting on this poem. Rachel may write a lot and spew out many poems just like that. But when you bring out a poem it is deep and touches the soul. Love it :)
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