Death is Knocking at My Door

Death is Knocking at My Door

Death is knocking at my door.

I’ve turned them away before,

But the longer I wait, like bait,

I’m inclined to accept an earlier date.

It is late,

And death still knocks at my door.

Again— again, and once more.

I’m tired of sleeping beneath my bed

But if I trail outside, I’m dead,

So I’ll hide here and avoid its stead.

Death is knocking at my door

With deafening drums of war

I must implore — them

to give me more time…

I open the door.

Not to death, but to a letter that reads:

Come outside

Breathe.

The one you fear isn’t me,

But rather the one who could, might, or possibly be.

Death is always near, just not yet here.

We are often mixed up, but

This is Life, my dear.