Death Talks

A poem in which the death talks about himself

Talking about me is fascinating
And philosophical
Hearing about is sentimental
For the faint hearted
Witnessing me is truly terrific
But experiencing me is crucial.

I am the death, the destroyer
Of the world as many addresses me
The fear of cowards and the friend of the brave
Guests of fools hope to helpless

I have pulled many from life

And pushed many to the exile

None has complained until my hands

Have gripped tight on the neck

What I have known I swear it’s true

I promise I’m honest

When there is a birth, I’m also born

When they grow up I am growing up too

And when they are ready

They cannot escape from my fingers..

Though painful once

You will later feel better and grateful

For what I have done