Funereal

Death came calling
As I wriggled in my crib.
A social call, he said,
“Such good friends we will be.
My list overflows with family and
Friends. Can’t stay, work never ends,
We shall chat later.”

Off he flew to take one Grandpa that same afternoon.
Years would flow in joy,
Or not,
While Death plucked
From his list,
Striking those near and nearer to my heart.

Yet he kept me alive,
A witness to it all;
His wretched art splashed
With the holes Left behind.

“Why must you take so many of my dear ones?” I raged.
“It isn’t I that causes it, but you.
It is the price of your blessing.
Everyone you know is on my list.
Everyone is called.”

Death rode his red stallion
Across the pale light
To touch another on the shoulder.

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