I've called to death a thousand times
And not once has he answered.
His door is locked, his lights are off.
There's no one home in Deaths' house.
I awoke today as usual,
But wishing that I didn't.
I called to Death and he told me
That my life had beauty in it.
I quickly scoffed and brushed it off,
Still longing for life's' end.
Until I heard that singing bird,
and with that my day was brightened.
I still call Death from time to time,
but just to see how he's been.
Sometimes Death even calls to me
But I rarely let him in.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
I've called to death a thousand times
And not once has he answered.
His door is locked, his lights are off.
There's no one home in Deaths' house.
I awoke today as usual,
But wishing that I didn't.
I called to Death and he told me
That my life had beauty in it.
I quickly scoffed and brushed it off,
Still longing for life's' end.
Until I heard that singing bird,
and with that my day was brightened.
I still call Death from time to time,
but just to see how he's been.
Sometimes Death even calls to me
But I rarely let him in.
Request permission to use this poem