My Friend the Reaper


Death is no stranger to me.
Young and old, it leaves none left
It cuts down all we love and hate
Discrimination's dead in death.
It took dear Lisa who had cancer
It took our classroom fish the same.
(But I confess that my poor care
Of them should be the one to blame.)
It took my grandpa Amos Wondei,
Our family grieved for days on end.
And only now I've realized
That Death does know me like a friend.

In infancy, it held my fist,
It pat my small and wailing head,
It heard my stilted stuttered breath
When I could barely breathe in bed.
The reaper waits with scythe in hand,
To take my final dying breath,
I won't reject its peaceful call
For I've begun to accept death.

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This Poems Story

An acceptance of the unknown beyond.