My Friend Death

Today an old friend stopped by,

A black robe billowing in the wind,

He reached out his hand,

-Its digits crafted of alabaster bones-

And shook my own.

I welcomed him into the house,

Took his scythe,

-Careful not to touch the glistening blade-

And placed it in the corner.


We traversed the hallways,

Speaking little to each other,

Until we made it to the table.

He sat down with ease,

A smile on his face.

I offered him tea,

But he declined,

And turned to look at my face.


We talked for hours,

Of gardening,



And music.

It was just like old times,

When he would stop by my home,

-When all the world had turned its back-

And lightened my heart.


I asked if he wanted to stay the night,

Not in the sense of yearning or lust,

But for the feeling of comfort his presence brought.

He gently declined,

Stating that tonight

He worked the graveyard shift.


A silence floated down upon us,

Of understanding and love,

He reached out his hand,

And grabbed my own.

The sensation was icy

Sending chills up the spine,

His fingers curled around mine,

Offering friendship.


"I came here to tell you

To vanquish those thoughts from your mind,

To live just one more year,

And tell me if its better.

There will always be a past,

A present,

A today,

But never is the future

In full guarantee.

I can see your life,

And tell you that there is still

Much for you to live for.

Just give it one more year,

Allow one more birthday to pass,

And I shall come back

To receive your answer."


His voice enveloped my body,

Its ringing an antidote to my pain.

I looked into his eyes,

And saw the shining love

Knowing that it was not my time to die.


A relief came over me

And tears rolled down my face,

For I knew that in all the world

At least one person cared for me.


He led me down the hallway,

-My fingers interlocked with his-

To my darkened bedroom.

I dropped his hand,

And swayed to my bed,

Wishing him a goodnight

And safe travels for the day.


He smiled down upon me,

Walked over to the bed,

He leaned his face down to mine,

Gently brushing his coarse lips across my forehead.


"Happy Birthday"

He said.

"Nay do not wish me

A happy birthday,

For those words do not walk hand in hand."

I replied.

"Then I wish you a birthday,

And a safe rest tonight."


He walked from the room,

His bony feet clicking against the wooden floors,

Leaving me alive

Asleep in my bed,

Till another year came

When he would visit again.

A/N: If you would like, read chapter two "A Visit from a Friend". Its about the visit from Death a year later.