To Death Poem by Sergio D'Amico

Your hands are white and cold,
on every living creature they unfold,
in search of another bride,
to lay forever by your side.
But no priest dares perform the rites,
and your cause is never right,
for you are doomed,
and your love shall go unconsumed,
Each time you renew your search
and claim one more life,
of the unfortunate who hosts your bride.
You are feared without precedent,
your power your very punishment,
for very few know your true name,
and those who helped mould your fame,
feel pity to your tears and pain,
for your name is death,
and your love is life,
and with great might you descend from above,
and though you claim life for yourself,
you can never possess life itself.