The whisper, haven’t you heard?
The stranger that comes, with a hood over his head,
Holding a sickle with a blade so keen,
No friends, yet visits all, silent and unseen.
Finders keeper, taking those he deems fit,
Ignoring age, he steps with cold feet,
Gifting us roses of sorrow and tears,
When he comes, all hearts are gripped with fear.
Omnipresent, casting shadows in the night,
Hide in the deepest ocean, it will find you right,
Bask in the endless void of space, it will pursue,
Slumber in the earth’s embrace, it will come for you.
He watches in silence, just out of sight,
In moments of joy, or the dead of night,
His touch, though feared, is cold yet calm,
A force unstoppable, with neither malice nor charm.
No bargain to strike, no mercy to plead,
For in his eyes, we are all decreed,
To face the stranger, though none wish to see,
The end of the path, where we cease to be.
He comes not with haste, nor does he delay,
A familiar face that won't turn away,
And though we fear his steady advance,
He simply offers us the final dance.
Hello eveeyone, my name is fashtioluwa and I wrote this poem based on a local song in my tribe we use to sing. The song is for those that have passed away who we miss. Recently, a close friend lost someone special to him and i felt writing a poem about death and its power was gonna help me think about it less.
Thanks for reading.
