I am fascinated by Death, as a character. I like Death as a neutral being, for lack of a better fitting word. Death has been misrepresented, or ill-presented. Death is the elephant in the room; no one wants to think or talk about it. When we think of Death, we do it in a negative way. Death is unfair, scary, sad, a punishment, evil … . We try to cheat Death; we want to live as long as we can. We become healthier, exercise, eat well, take vitamins … just to live longer, to avoid meeting with Death. We cling to youth in many ways (creams, Botox, plastic surgery …) because by growing old we think we become closer to Death, and that scares us.

In movies, the hero cheats Death, saves others, and beats Death. We dream of vampires, eternal life, and we rather turn into a werewolf than face Death. It is only when the Vampire or the Werewolf (or any other creature) represents the threat of death that we destroy it, and we cheer – ah, we are safe. We put people on Death row for a long time, as if the wait prolongs the suffering.  Death doesn’t even have a face; it is represented as the ripper covered in a black-gray tunic who appears unexpected, uninvited, carrying its weapon of destruction. Even in suicide, the person does not embrace Death; instead, the person escapes life. However, Death doesn’t destroy at will (but we do); it doesn’t seem to have one. Death doesn’t take lives by choice (we do), and it doesn’t seem to enjoy its duty. Death only is, and it is always on time.

So this morning, as I pondered on this character who is so misunderstood and hated, I wrote Death a poem. Here it is, and I hope you enjoy it or at least that it gives you a different perspective.

Requiem
I do not belong
Nor do I seek.
Nor Heaven nor Hell
I wander the Earth.

Who am I?
Human at best?
Hint of divine?
Of evil a speck?

Of grace and humankind
The Earth is tired.
The ice a blanket throws
Blue hearts, frozen desires.

Divine, Evil, Human, morass.
Tired Earth Dooms Day awakes.
Melting core, frozen bones, at last
The apocalyptic boom, the end.

Nor who, nor what
Serving the times, perpetual task.
No will, no cry
Angel of Death, on time I am.