He visited my room again,
that man in pitch black
his heavy hood and long denim
swallowing the light.
Death, not carrying a scythe and dressed in robes,
but still I knew him for who he was.
His second visit was at midday,
the sun bright in the sky
suddenly darkened by thick clouds;
a storm appearing with him.
He looked at me with apprehension
and held out one hand.
I stared for a moment before speaking.
Why do you keep trying?
I asked with a fading smile
fearful of his reply.
Death paused, looked to his trembling fingers,
I keep hoping you’ll give up.
he admitted, and his hand dropped.
You won’t though, will you?
I smiled, and his shoulders hunched.
No. I have too much left to do.
was my simple reply, not the words he longed to hear.
Death visited again today
in black denim and fleece
and reminded me how to live.
Finally managing to complete a second in a series, something I’ve always wanted to try, thanks to this week’s Trifectra challenge, which gives us black.