I.

Death comes swiftly
Like a vulture flying on the wind
Towards its prey

Or slowly, stealthy…as a rattlesnake
With its body coiled, tail high and erect
And waiting, silently, with its fangs poised to strike

But with surety it comes,
As the sun rises…
Alas! Nay, no sun shall rise

On the morrow
Where long sleep shall be
Embalmed or pyre lit.