A Narrative of Mortality

   Across the border of my room,

      I see a man.

    It was rather dark

    Yet I see a lightness across a spark.

    I see a man,

    Babbling in white

    And talking about death.

    He seeps into the room and I ask

    What is death?

    “It is what religion claims

    And stories pondered on.

     Poets to which have written about

    And singers to which they sing songs.

    It is the promised land-

    Of mortality

    And shelter of finished men.

    It is what melancholic people wish when to their agony they fell

Now close your door

And pray for light

For I am death;

Your dear visitor for the night.”

Said he.

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