To know my name is, Death

I sat upon a rock,
watching ships go to and fro.
But I dare not call her name,
that she may know

I sat upon the roof, 
as she walked the city to and fro.
But I dare not call her name,
that she may know

I sat outside a window,
watching her dreams move to and fro.
But I dare not call her name,
that she may know.

I sat upon her body,
watching life go to and fro.
But I dare not call her name,
That she may know.

I sat upon her grave,
watching people go to and fro.
But I dare not speak my name,
that they may know.

Reviews

[Patrick Gerlits]

The omnipresent mythical being that lurks at the end of the path each and every one of us walk down. He's a stranger, but as an observer he knows us all too well...and he's patient. Waiting, waiting, waiting until the wheat is ripe for harvesting.

The tone of this poem is current throughout and the pace doesn't change. The title does a lot to depict what this poem is about (good poems for me have a title that explains the poem to an extent). It rhymes, it gives imagery and it ends. The ending however is different from the rest of the poem in tone as it wraps things up nicely, it takes a different turn. The climax has been reached and I assume her name has been called--yet as the reaper has shown himself he does not identify himself...though I suspect they must know. I like it.

[Nooneisherenow]

This is a really good interpretation of 'Death' and I really like the style that you have written this in, thanks :)