Intertwining With Death Poem by Charles Anderson

I interlocked hands with death,
Her thumb glided across the back of mine
While her icy fingers kept my palm in place.
Her movement left a trail
cold as ice under its path.
She smiled at me,
our hands interlocked.
She looked me in the eyes
And she told me
'It isn't your time.'
*I waited for her to take over
For my very essence to be engulfed.
No matter how I begged
Or pleaded or implored.
She smiled at me,
our hands interlocked
And our minds forever intertwined.
She assures me
'It isn't your time.'
My hands tangled with death
But my soul never left the real world.
She ignored my pleas.
The breath began escaping my body,
I tried to grasp it
to bury it back in.
I tried not to shiver
Against her touch
Because I welcomed her in;
But she did not return my openness.
Her smile dipped and her gaze hardened,
her hand slid out from mine.
She waved me goodbye with her icy cold fingers.
Leaving me with a feeling of warmth.
Strange for death
To care so much about a life
But I suppose it was as she said;
'It isn't your time.'