Death intrigues


Death, I welcome thee;
put a crown upon thy head;
appoint thee executioner;
What more dost thou need
from a readied man?

My will is too short,
narrow at the very tip.
Were I to stab out, angry,
I would surely misguide
and falter on my new wound.

And what do I have left
but petty memoirs; blank.
I should not care for thee;
I have never seen thy face.
Not since thy last left.

Did thy love leave thou
or dost thou still dream;
my life in thy merciless hands.
I am far from suicidal,
just struggling to live.

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