A Blade In The Dark

A poem about death

There's a blade in the dark, like a viper, a shark. Leaving it's mark, in back alleys and parks.

 

In the black of the night, waiting to strike, defeating us all, watching us fall.

 

Leaving us broken and mauled, a beast of resolve, loved by no one, despised by all.

 

This beast is called death, I can feel it's breath on my neck. I feel it's presence at my back like a whip ready to crack.

 

It is the slaughterer of the slain, the ender of pain. The owner of lives, the taker of all souls on this plane of existence.

 

It doesn't give a fleck of respect about your body, or any sort of shoddy mercy or courtesy, leaving your cold and mouldy, alone with nothing but your bones in the ground.

 

Some people worship death. Killing others for reasons such as pleasure, justice, rage, hate, or even love. But death does not care, it judges everyone the same.Those people will die just as surely as you and I.

 

Death takes all, big or small, everything that lives will eventually die.

 

Some people believe in life after death, others think a quick death will bring relief. But I know death brings nothingness, endless, not by any means brief.

 

Death is a thief, a sword that is never sheathed, constantly taking, breaking our bodies and leaving us rotting away.

 

There is no shield, no armour that will repel this blade, it is fate that this shade will follow us as we run through life. It will always be right behind us, until we're buried in our grave, and darkness dances with our remains forever after, death erases us from existence. Gone permanently. And soon to be forgotten.

Author's Note

This is how I feel about death


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