He walks the land,
When the hourglass rids its last grain of sand.
It’s one man’s time,
To meet the inevitable end of his line.
Touch to the man,
A strike of chill left from one frozen hand.
One man’s demise,
With two silver coins left on two cold eyes.
A vibrant tree,
Fades to darkness, shriveling violent leaves.
And in his path,
He smiles and strolls with grim in his laugh.
For hear his name,
It’s a fear and acceptance in all of his fame,
His name is Death,
And he’s ready to steal from you one last breath.
Created: Jan 17, 2011tiafischer Document Media