-- Death Never Knocks on its own Door --

By John Herlihy

Death never knocks on its own door,

Nothing can block its advance ever more.

It comes on tiptoes to each and every one,

Tracking dust and ash from cobwebs spun.

Arriving in silence with the final breath,

Taken by the hand thru the door of death.

Now in the embrace of this stranger held,

The body on the floor as a grand oak felled.

As still as stillness was ever meant to be,

Never again this glorious, cruel world to see.

Who is this stranger, but an angel of light,

With streaming rays leading thru death’s night.

Fingers of smoke slips thru the door’s key,

As the human soul kneels on bended knee.

In a rush of wind, death’s door creaks open,

The final words in the narrative of life spoken.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Wednesday 20 September 2023