Death claims us all at some point.
Coming swiftly for some
hovering heavily over others.
Silent as the night
he waits patiently to take the ones close to you.
Suffering in silence.
He waits. He waits.
Love and compassion are not in his vocabulary.
He takes what he’s told.
Young or old.
It doesn’t matter to him
it’s just his job description.
We see his form plotting and planning.
We ask why he’s so callous, colder than the winter night.
How he can come and take what’s our without a thought of how it affects us.
We hate him.
And he waits. And he waits.
Until it’s your turn.
Then it’s your life he will take.