She walks with grace, a quiet tide,
No need for doors; they open wide.
Her presence felt before she's seen,
A shadow cast, a space between.
Her hair a crown of chaos worn,
A tapestry of life forlorn.
Her alabaster skin aglow,
A canvas pale, the moonlight's throw.
Her voice is soft, a tender hum,
A song that calls, “Your time has come.”
Yet in her gaze, no cruel decree,
Just quiet truth and certainty.
Her steps are light, her path aligned,
No chains to bind, no wrath confined.
A necklace swings, an ankh, a key,
Unlocking what is meant to be.
She doesn't judge, she doesn't scorn,
She greets the weary, scarred, and worn.
No need for malice, force, or fire,
For all will answer her desire.
She whispers hope to those who weep,
A promise made, “Forever sleep.”
For in her arms, there lies release,
A final breath, a quiet peace.
Yet in her wake, some still resist,
Clutching life with trembling fist.
But even they will one day learn,
All roads will lead to her return.
Death is not the end they fear,
But a companion, always near.
With gentle hand, she clears the way,
And guides the lost to night from day.