The Awaiting


Death waits
alone
behind a silver door
at the end
of this well worn road

Holding fierce anticipation
in contrast
to my trepidation

And as my story grows
my future wanes
moment by moment
until

My skin
is inevitably chilled
by those cold
and barron
hands

That wait
alone
behind a silver door
at the end
of this well worn road

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