Kind of Death

Kind of Death

By Annabelle Williamson

I sit in awe, beholding Life's grand scheme,

For she, a God, commands our waking days.

Even though she is a harsh and brutish queen,

A piece of her am I until the grave.

But there, Life’s daughter waits: a child named Death.

She finds us bruised and bloody in Life’s midst.

Though taught to scorn and curse her very breath,

'Tis Death who guides me through the flowing Styx.

I was a fool to crave Life's dimming glow,

In Death's small hand, I find some love and grace.

For where I sought the heights, I fell below,

And found in her embrace, a kinder place.

At least that's what I hope, though I’m afraid.

May she—in kindness—be as I’ve portrayed.