Death's gaze, not vacant, but with a bloodshot gleam,
A chilling glint, a haunting, shadowed dream.
No youthful spark, but wisdom etched in lines,
A life well-lived, yet etched with all its times.

A whiskey smile, a knowing, bitter twist,
Of countless souls, he's met, with a final kiss.
No malice gleams, but weary, patient grace,
A silent beckon to that unknown space.

He holds no weapon, nor a cruel decree,
Just life's last dance, the final cup for thee.