Death Came to Me Last Night...

In recognition of today being Halloween, I thought I would post one of my more somber (almost macabre) poems.  It features Death, with all his persuasive charms and hidden terrors.  I wrote it at a very introspective moment (during a bout of insomnia), while considering how dying can be viewed with either horror or longing, depending on what someone has to live for.  I hope that it makes you think, and that you come to the conclusion that I did - that life offers enough for all to spurn Death's advances when he asks us to join him before our time runs out.

Death came to me last night,
and oh, I could naught but stare!
‘Stead of what I thought might,
what visage greeted me there!
 
He stood not in a shroud,
but in a plain, simple cloak,
not drifting in a cloud,
but walking as other folk.
 
The scythe he carried not,
only an untitled book.
“The Book of Life,” I thought,
but I did not dare to look.
 
He towered not o’er me,
but near level with my height,
and Death’s face I could see –
oh, what a puzzling sight!
 
His features were pleasant,
his smile welcoming, warm.
His face held no portent,
no violence was in his form.
 
Yet, looking in his eyes,
I knew surely he was Death –
a coldness beyond guise
that fast stole away my breath.

The cold of deepest space,
yet the beauty of the sea,
hid beneath gentle face
and gazed out, blue, towards me.
 
He spoke and beckoned me,
and extended his free hand,
“Come with me now to see
the wonders within my land.”
 
The best of salesmen,
oh, how persuasive was he!
The visions he did lend
made me want to go and see.
 
He opened up his book,
and with a skeletal quill,
invited me to look
and therein my name to fill.
 
Parchment, yellowed and dry,
‘cross the pages drifted sand,
but this caught not my eye,
and I took the pen in hand.
 
Then thoughts of what Death lacked
restored curiosity.
I asked, not counting tact,
how he came thus garbed to me.
 
“Tonight I come gently,
for your sand has not run out.
But, oh, why go slowly?
Join me on my evening route!”
 
He opened a portal
and urged me with him to come
where could go no mortal.
Forth called the rattle and drum.
 
But I could not turn back
if I stepped over that rim;
in it showed his soul, black,
and I shrunk way from him.

Then, shaking slow his head,
he stepped in and disappeared;
leaving behind the dread,
taking the beauty I feared.

Now, I know he’ll return
on a not-too-distant day,
but now life’s candle burns
and choice holds my death at bay.

~David Jamison~