"Death will come for me"
by JoshuaHarestad
Death will come for me.
I may not see when.
Will it come quickly or slow?
Till it arrives, I can’t go.
Answer’s we can’t know,
and yet I ask still.
Will I meet that cold embrace,
with dignity, and with grace?
I used to feel fear.
Always wondering.
Somehow, now, I accept it.
No longer the big dread pit.
I’m so tired, always.
Sleep is not enough.
Eternal slumber, not bad.
Many worse things to be had
No longer afraid.
Almost excited.
To step bold across that veil.
To see what’s inside the well.
No more about me.
Kids. Wife. I must wait.
I cannot create more tears,
just to face my greatest fears.
Poetry
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Death in many ways is both sad and scary, wondering how when and where. I liked your poem yet nevertheless I’m in no hurry to find out about death!