And they say there is peace in Death,
Yet, in the same breath, is a fear of Death,
And if there really be peace in Death,
Then, why do we endlessly dread you, Death?

If the end of all ends be in Death,
Why do we feel a new beginning in Death?
There is, in the graveyard, a lurking stillness of Death,
Is not that Silence heralding a storm following Death?

A treacherous thief they call you, Death,
Though, honest to your promise you are, Death.
Blamed you are for you cleverly catch them off-guard,
In this game of hide-and-seek, forever, taking the crown, Death.
Faultless you are, simply, skillful like the smoothness of sward
While varying your guise as a shape-shifting transporter, Death.

Oh hush…! They know not that you are but just an usher,
Escorting them to their seats, buckling for a climax on a roller-coaster,
An apocalyptic ride of utter cataclysms that follow you, Death.