Posted by Gerald Bosacker
on 3/21/2002, 1:52 pm
DEATH CAME CALLING,
waking me from my fever
with an icy hand that burned my soul.
"Come with me," Death whispered in my ear,
"Die young. Avoid growing useless and old.
See the greatest mystery unfold, come walk with me."
I was young,
two months twenty
and I was in love with all
that was life and would not go away with death,
even though he touched me with his dry ice hand.
I Looked him in the eye, and said,
"Life is still out there and must be beautiful,
I will not go with you,
I will not die until I've tasted everything."
Death left, alone and life went on but my innocence was gone.
When I was forty,
Death came again to take me
from my lovers arms. I recognized him at once,
he hadn't changed.
His face was colorless, fifty shades of gray,
no black or white
and not a hint of color
although the bedside lamp shone in his face.
"Come with me
and never feel the ache of pain or sorrow
of parting again"
Reaching out with that same frosty hand,
he pulled me erect and turned toward the door.
I cannot go with you,
I have so very much I must undo.
I pledge to follow when I'm through.
Death left without me, but he took my hope with him.
At sixty,
Death came and asked for my child.
Spare him, take me,
I lived so long and won't be cheated of early
blossom or funerary song.
And we were spared and he turned away and left
but took my parents with him.
Now I'm eighty
and all pleasures are over.
I'll go willingly for now I have remembered
the passing view of heaven,
cloud-like
while resting beneath a swathe of
fresh turned clover.
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