Death Poem by Book Worm

He emerges out of nowhere, he never goes to sleep
A second shadow to your step, is what he’ll always be
When you least expect it, he’ll reach into your soul
In your deepest core, is what he’ll find what he wants most
His weapon of destruction, will not be found in his touch,
But deep within his desire, to see your body drop.
He’s the source of grieving, he’s the reason for your loss
Feeding off your misery, loving what he does.
Planting seeds of fear, in your darkest spots
Waiting for them to grow, so he can harvest the lot.
He’s been here for centuries waiting and depleting
The only job’s he got, is outmoding the helpless and the needy.
Whenever you feel glum, his presence’s always near.
That’s because he’s feeling joyous, you can see it in his leer.
An accident just happened, just a block away.
Ten dead passengers, their still bodies in the concrete, lay.
To him it’s a buffet, the one he surely won’t forget
This is what he lives for, feeding off despair.
A cemetery in the night, is his favorite hang out place
Chatting with old victims, about sending them to their grave
Strolling around the whole world, in his gallant black robe
Infecting you with his madness, swallowing you whole.
But because he loves war, disease, plagues, and gore
He detests what makes us love: kindness, caresses and much more
When you’re almost due, you can feel him creeping
Silently stalking you, your life he’s nursing and seeping
A devilish smile, displayed across his ghostly face
Is the last thing you’ll see, before you hit the grave.
Don’t skirt around the inevitable, the chase is quickly ending
Sooner than you know, your body, mind and spirit will be surrendering
Beware of his scaly hands; they might be near your throat
Every time you take a risk, is what you’ll be asking for.
Your luck with death is quickly ending, every day he’s getting near,
Searching for that succulent soul,
Which he’ll be feeding on this year.