Waiting Arms

Perhaps one would call this a sin; a sin so great as to drag me down to the deepest bowels of Hell and back again. Perhaps one would say this was wrong; so wrong as to infect me with toxic bile that would drown me from the inside out. Perhaps one would also remark that this was a trap leading me to an isolated cage, and that I would be trapped in the cage with bars of burning iron and steel, hot to the touch, burning my very being away.

And maybe it was, with one tug drawing me near, closer and closer to the poison that threatened to be placed upon my lips and stealing away my very life in return for the pleasure it had given me. Was it truly a crime to respond with a blind incentive? To follow the trail of that feeling? Was it truly a sin to come to a stop into those waiting arms?

Was it truly a sin to crawl into Death’s lap, have his attention focused so fully on the follower before him, looking back with a lonely nostalgia that only his disciple could only imagine? His words carried such a hidden power, laced not with what many imagine. Instead, his declarations are filled with a deep understanding, words formed with infinite knowledge from the beginning of time, passing his lips in a smooth rhythm, neither happy nor sad. There is no resentment, irritation, or ruthless looks that come from his eyes of coal that are as deep as the earth and filled with an emptiness as vast as space. His cropped bangs fall down over his eyes and his hair falls down to beyond his waist, tied with string and not a ribbon. He has wings to match his eyes, but with neither feathers nor leather and they extend from his scarred back, as if he had always been part avian.

He is always accepting. He is neither good, nor evil, and thus he is the one many do not wish to believe in. No one but I believes that he is there, waiting. Always waiting. Just waiting for people to fall into those patient arms, embrace them and keep them still, to forgive and punish at the same time. He does no harm. It is only a person’s emotions that drive them to utter ruin and rebuild once more. He does not bless any one person, nor does he forgive, but he is always there to listen. His ears are trained to hang to each word uttered from a person’s mouth, from those who believe.

Is it a sin to fall into his waiting arms?

No.

Because Death is my God.

Who is yours?