A poem?

Collector

There comes a time of every man
When he has to go to a faraway land.
Nobody counts down from 10 to 1
Cause the clock differs for everyone.

I once saw a child upon that street
no more as his mother weeped.
He stood behind his mother's back
calling her name as she lowered herself.

The back that stood in front of him,
the back that never bowed to whims
of God and man both alike
But she lowered her back for his life.

I, the collector stood aside
and watched this scene unfold one more time.
As the souls weeped
and the alive cried
I stood aside one more time.

As another destiny reached its end
I introduced them to another bend.
A path they could follow back to the land
when ends the time of every man.