The SUMMIT of Highest Flight

Death stalks both the malicious and the meek. Death hunts the strong and the weak. Death doesnt wait for infancy to pass, Nor adolescence to surface, or First love to sink in. Death does not feel, taste, or touch. Its own touch takes too much. Death hears the cries, and the wailing Of agonizing love, its victims ailing And stays still. Death hears the laughter and hate, And ferocity of your enemies of late. Death doesnt take sides, or win wars, Death never stops, never opens doors, Never needs more. The nature of Death is slow to notice, Like the once-beautiful flower, the decaying lotus That waits for the right moment to bloom. But it couldnt come too soon For Death. Death will see you cringe if you hold fear too close. Will see your pride if you can mount the thunder and woes, Will hear your last words and speak some of its own: 'No soul is unimportant, for each is fodder-bone To gnaw and grind on.' Though you should know, if you cannot walk to the Gate Death will carry you, or simplydrag your dead-weight. The Tilling Scythe that once knew grain, Will know your soul as earth knows rain. And I will too. *** Death obeys God, and you obey Death, and Time; Which cannot be stopped except in rhyme. Here the raging poet sweeps Death off its feet, And keeps the balance of good replete For now. Death can never know what its like to hold Either a woman or a child, for within either is neither cold Nor fire, but a heart of gentle rhythm warm and mild, Instead Death takes its pleasure in the stranger wild, A form of random pattern. Death knows that being loved only gets in the way, Being feared makes it easier to seize the day. To Death, each soul is worth equal price. It is not noble to seek sacrifice; Your soul, not mine, will suffice. Justice is a completely different store, Death takes what is offered and no more. Since Life is regenerative, then so Death Is multiplicative: and each breath An infinity of gasps. The only thing finite in this world is you. You are special and Death knows this to be true. Death, in the final reckoning, shatters Your soul into pieces, the only life that matters, Where, like exploding nebulae, it scatters. In the darkness that follows, escape becomes more than a chance. It becomes possibility, angels in a trance, Deliberating on Truth, and the journey of souls. The demons may have slightly different goals, But you must stay in the light. On one day in the great history of human destruction, All the freed soul-pieces will leap to salvation. One will come to collect and redistribute their power, The other comes to absolve them in the smallest hour. Oh, whom to trust?