The Horseman Poem by Elizabeth Dewey

death dresses in a black suit
and speeds into your life
in a hearse with tinted windows
and no doors.

each soul he touches
is so warm in his hands
until it slowly fades away
to nothing.

but he does not want you
to see him as a bad person.
each time he takes a soul, he hopes
it stays with him.

we all fear death, and
he resents that more than anything.
he wishes we could understand
his loneliness.

but he exists in this realm
only as a memory of the pain
you feel when he takes a loved one
away.

when you are young when he comes
to visit, you will associate the
memory of your grandfather
with him.

pestilence is his accomplice
as he takes away the man
you will never be able to
know.

china chickadees and the
chair in the corner where grandpa
would sit makes it feel like he is
watching you.

and when you are older,
when you think you understand him,
you think you’ve gotten to know him,
it hurts more.



sometimes he takes you by
surprise, poisoning your mind
as you see his silhouette
around every corner.

sometimes, the only way to get
over the pain he causes is
to get close to him
yourself.

blood on your arms, on your
clothes, on your floor. it is a
cry for his help, a plea for it to
end.

but he holds you in his arms
and whispers in your ear
“my dear child, i won’t take
you yet.

“seventeen years is much too
short a time. appreciate what i can
never have: that beautiful thing called
life.”