Death was caught-off guard by my statement
when I greeted it like an old friend,
though it'd never made itself known to me.
I hear a soft chuckle.
"How did you know?"
My smile said it all,
but I used my voice anyway for the last time
as weakly, I whispered,
"Because I've been waiting for you,
and I'm not afraid of you anymore."
Death smiled softly,
as kindly as compassion,
and murmured,
"Take my hand,
and I will make you my queen."
And slowly,
silently,
I took his hand,
and he led me away
to peace.
I think this is actually one of my favorite self-written poems. :)
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YOU ARE READING
These Insufficient Words
PoetryPoetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. -Robert Frost This is my own collection of thoughts. My own stories, through the deepest sorrow and highest peaks of happiness I've had in my rather brief life, and s...
