The Silent Sword (April 2,1997)
Death Never Loses
Fleeing, fleeing the malicious laugh.
Walking, walking your hopeless path.
Stalking, stalking he is never far.
Screaming, screaming in the dark.
Once he draws near, you will have died.
But Death looks pitiful as he cuts the vine.
For so many must be torn asunder.
He strides ever on to seek another.
As the end draws near,
You simply step forward.
And Death is surprised about
What you walk toward.
Falling to one knee, Death bows humbly.
Hunting you was all for naught.
And so Death simply says, "I have lost."
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.