Death Poem by David Chishimba

My heart breaks for the heart broken
My heart bleeds for bleeding hearts...
Both the departed and the bereaved..
I die a little every time I think about the dead..
Death, the cousin of sleep..
It's cruel and sometimes merciful..
Its a place I can't walk..
For no traveller returns..
Loved by poets..
And feared by the non religious..
Its the belly we all know we are going to fill..
All pulled nearer by inevitable and never receding years..
The only thing which knows no luck..
Does not recognise any faith.
But swallows all...
That bloody insatiable maw is coming, and will surely knock your door one day..
Are you afraid?