Coffee with Death

Coffee with Death

A Poem by Death's Poet

Death is a name, it fills many with fear.
But as I'm writing he sips coffee here.
I fret not and shed not a tear.
In fact, many evenings we've sat, splitting liquor and beer.
"Today?" I ask, and he smirks and says "No."
He takes pleasure in it, his eyes seem prideful and glow.
"I really am ready." I say, nearly groveling.  Nodding, "I've long known this is so."
"But not today, no." He apathetically states. "I've known long ages you're ready to go."
Suddenly I stood, almost surprising myself at the hastiness 
"Then why can't I come? If you've known," rage fell to pain, "Why make my joy into evasiveness?"
Death, no longer disturbed by my outbursts simply said, "I've not decided your readiness." 
And he stirred his coffee idly. I began to weep,"I've tried trying to live, I've tried trying to die, I've tried passiveness."
"But have you tried waiting, without expectation?" Death ever so calmly replied.
"Are you listening to me, passivity is torture. but I have. If I said I hadn't I've lied"
He stirred his coffee, added more sugar then glanced up at me, "How many days have you cried?"
I was startled by the calmness, by the unexpected query, "I've cried a thousand tears each day I haven't died."
He nodded and sipped, "The coffee's grown cold."
My sorrow returned to rage, "Your coffee? I laid bare my heart! Are you truly this bold?"
"Assuming I care of warmth of your drink?", sitting, dizzy in rage. "Perhaps by a better host, the argument may be sold"
"A better host!" I scoffed. "How could I be? I've done everything for you! So what is this unseen hold?"
"I've made you a room," I breathe to quiet the shaking in my throat. "We exchange pleasantries each day." 
"I've bought expensive brandy, and spirits, and coffee to make you feel welcome. And that's what you say?"
"I appreciate the effort." He said, still staring at his cup. "And I know for ages, each day to me you pray."
"Then wh-" My voice cracked, I forced myself to allow my soul a moment. "Then why must I stay?"
He slid his mug across the table, plainly done with his drink, and in my soul his eyes did skink, what did he see?
I pondered only seconds before his knife of a voice cut the still air, "Have you wondered if it's actually up to me?"
His face was stone still, not an unusual sight. Nails dug into my table, trying not to shriek. "How couldn't it be?"
He noticed my distress, and his countenance shifted, then he was able to speak. "Maybe within you is the key."
I was used to his riddles, love of giving me rise, concealing anger I slammed shut my eyes, "Whatever could you mean?"
He reclined in his seat, reveling in seeing me hooked. From side to side, his cold eyes looked. "What would it seem?"
Eyes still shut, I exhaled a storm. Tears escaped shut lids, my blood grew warm. "Please Death, I'd rather not scream"
"Scream if you must." He leaned on the table. "I've been here for longer than I'm able." My soul ripped at the seam.
With those words, Death departed my house and left me alive.
Each morning he returns, I still haven't died, no matter the method I contrive.
Each day I beg for answers, my broken soul does strive.
I'm past the point of joy, I'm in no position to thrive.
And fear hits me each day, as I drive and drive
Each person I love away from me
And one day, will death also leave?
And leave me alive.

© 2019 Death's Poet

Author's Note

Death's Poet
First draft but I love criticism

My Review

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Interesting piece... I found the tempo hard to catch at certain lines, mainly due to their length (the tempo gets a little muddy). Its overall a good piece, I think a little more editing would fix that slight issue; or it could just be the way I read it. lol thank you for sharing.

Posted 2 Years Ago

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Added on June 24, 2019
Last Updated on December 7, 2019
Tags: sad, poetry, coffee, death, depression, story


Death's Poet
Death's Poet

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