At the End of a Long Illness

I have seen Death and he is neither gnarled nor gray.
He wears no hooded cloak nor does he hide his face.

Instead he takes on a form of such limberness and grace
And sings sweetly of beginnings,
Like a child at his play.

Dawn lingers in his footsteps;
He says to leave the night behind.
There is no need to reset:
Nothing to rewind.

Old aches and pains,
Rueful memories and sorrows,
Are but in this lifetime,
a set of burdens borrowed.

So I have seen Death and heard his whispered words
to one who already seeks him,
he is but a welcomed light.


Author: redgladiola

Creative writer happily predisposed to flights of fancy. You can find my poetry and short prose at

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