Gazing through the pane, you saw death coming.

The black of its cape flailing in the air

Like some poor soul bound to its being.

No face, no eyes, no windows into its soul.

No trace of the humanity it stole.

Its bony finger beckons you

As it raises its powerful scythe.

A thief to some a prayer for many,

It rides to the beat of no drummer.

Primitive, yet, futuristic,

It’s bound by no time until time is gone.

A quintessence of a knowing smile,

Had death the ability to do so,

And I beg for you to run.

You refuse.

Standing firm, you tempt its shadow to cross.

Its scythe swings and cuts deep.

The glass still stands but you don’t.

Leaving the shell, death bounds away.

A majestic rider left to its next course

As I stand perfectly still,

Awaiting its undoubted return.