Do You Know Death by Nikki Rountree
You know, Death, can be a very scary thing
Death and the Grim Reaper having their fling
A snap of  Death's finger and then **** you are gone
There is always this battle between how we want to keep them
And when God wants them home
Oh, Death, do you have a heart at all
They are here one day and then they're gone
I'm perplexed--just like others I start thinking, who's next
Dare I say that you are not very complex--at best-- I would call you simple
Oh death, you are no friend
because we know eventually you will win
Grim Reaper, yes, that's your identical twin—
always creeping around looking for his next victory to win.
Death, I don't have to see you coming to know that one day you will.  
You and that reaper---always asking, "Can I keep her?  Can I keep him?"
As the old song says and I am glad to sing it to you --Weeping may endure through the night, but the joy comes....in the morning.
Mourning--no one can tell you a timeline. No one can countdown the days you grieve
Mourn at your own pace; there's no race,
but also seems like there is no reprieve
Death--we know you are real-I believe I do believe
Death-- you know that you have power in the tongue
It's said that death comes in threes- please don't take another one
I was told to write this poem...thinking it might take my sadness away
Spill my feelings by putting pen to paper;
Drying up my tears as I spill my thoughts like—
a person spills the beans
Releasing the ink that will break the link;
that makes me wonder what all this means
But then in the twinkling of an eye, you make us have to say good bye.
to the ones we love
Oh Death, today will be the last day I shed a tear
because this poem has released me
to no longer have any fear
over losing what's held so dear
Because, just as much as we hate the loss
It's inevitable that we not become lost
Live life to the fullest each day
Tell the people you love
how much you love them in every way
Because as you can see, if you don't, you won't have time
and death will come when it’s the very last thing that’s on your mind.
Like I asked....Do you know death?

Mundane celebrations to mask our ever closing demise
Working 9 to 5s, never fully enjoying our limited lives
Never knowing which day will be our last
So we choose to slave away for a world
That we will never fully experience
In the hopes our successors will enjoy the fruits of our labor
But inevitably enjoy the same propaganda pamphlets that their parents once read
And slave for a world, that their successors might enjoy
All the while, the reapers scythe sharpens.

Proudly he handles the bottle, bellowing about her as if she were a person

She's not fine wine, she's aged wine.
kept in the dark; alone with her thoughts
low in the earth; like a corpse
and given all the time in the world to ferment; she's rotting

Her glass is smooth you see, and cool to the touch; like the pavement on which she fell
The curves are unique to every bottle; her carcass so pretty
And the deepest green you'll ever see on a bottle; like her eyes

I have preserved her so! To keep her how she should be!
that's how he wanted to see me

She has aged well, for almost 20 years you see.
still as young as ever

But this is a special occasion; they found me
Go fetch some glasses; I can hear them digging
And we'll celebrate her.

Crackling cancer, the glimmer of light
mixed with the fog
I see him beckoning, calling out in that morning smoke
He's waiting for me.

Holding hands with the Friendly Reaper.
I feel it, the grip, the warmth, the care.
It cares, he cares, she cares.
Sickening shiny scythe.
That cares cuts.
So I keep on pretending,
That the warmth is warm.
That the metal is gentle.
That the grip is comforting.
Hiding my face from myself.
Averting my eyes from that panicked stare.
That terror, that glances at the joined hands and back at me.
I embrace the reaper and his scythe.
Cut and reshape me. Just don't let me go.
Make the face in the mirror go away.
I'd help him if I could but I can't so just get rid of him.
Hold me close I need you to cut me and care for me.

I was sitting at my desk, gloomy,
I  had sent out my CV.
I wanted to be Santa's apprentice, you see;
's long as I remember, that's what I yearned to be,
And unintentionally, my words have come out all rhyme-y.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and a clang
And I toppled off my chair.
I  whipped around expecting to see
Father Christmas or at least his deputy
Come to take me up on my offer.

Instead of the gold, red and green glow,
I saw black and grey smoke curling
around my room; and out of it
Rose a sinister scythe and holding it
was the last person you'd want to see.

"Ah, the last person you'd want to see, eh?"
He said, reading my mind.
"For most I'm also the last person they would see."
He stood there, his head cocked
as if expecting me to get the joke.

"Am I going to die? Is it my time?"
I asked, all the things I've yet to do
rushing through my mind.
Especially all the swear words
left unsaid to some special people.

"Nope," he said in a dead tone,
"I'm here on official business.
North Pole is overstaffed,
So they forwarded your CV to me.
I've come to take you as my apprentice."

I stood gaping at him, my eyelid twitching.
He looked at me and I looked at him
And there was a grave silence.
"Well, giddy up," he said, "say your goodbyes,
Pack your things. Chop Chop!"

"But why you?" I asked morosely,
"Why not the Easter bunny?
Why not the Tooth Fairy?"
He snorted in derision
And looked around my room as he said,

"The Bunny doesn't take on help,
Doesn't want his precious eggs smashed.
And the Fairy has pixies to help her.
Cheer up, you'll see more action with me.
My previous helpers used to die for more."

He gave me an ominous smile.
Not entirely reassured, I packed my stuff,
Went down to bid adieu to my parents,
Left a letter to my friends,
And posted a spring punching fist to my ex.

He was sitting on my chair, one leg crossed,
his foot jangling to the death metal
blaring from my stereo,
smoking a cigar while
reading 'The Book Thief', when I returned.

"Alrighty then, let's leave," he said.
Thick smoke whirled around us
And the next thing I knew, there was another
Bang! and a curious Clang!
and we were standing in a town square.

"I get the bang, but what's with the clang?"
I asked, curious, following as he strode off.
"I pulled a prank on Santa once,
popped up behind him much as I did in your room.
Thought we'd have a laugh," he said sourly.

"The fat guy didn't like it at all,
And ever since then, every time I travel,
This bang and clang follow me.
Ruins my style, it does.
I'm usually all for silence and smoke."

"Where're we going?" I asked as we
turned into a deserted street.
"We're going to ***** out a tough old idiot.
He's escaped me for too long.
I'll have him this time for sure."

And from the folds of his robes he drew
A black saucepan and handed it to me.
I looked at him perplexed and he explained,
"We don't give out scythes to newbies.
This is the standard Reaper's 'pprentice's weapon."

Armed thus, he with the scythe and
I with the oddly reassuring saucepan,
We passed like vapour through a closed door
and floated to a bedroom upstairs.
Pretty impressed so far, I took a look at our prey.

He was a bald, thin, old man,
sleeping in this chintz armchair,
hands clasped around a rifle on his lap.
He was snoring, oblivious to the terror
that was us - the fearsome death dealers.

The Reaper's robes slithered over the carpet,
His step soft and graceful,
His eyes glinting with power.
And suddenly, the old man woke up
and started firing blindly.

I rushed for cover while the bullets
went straight through the Reaper
and got lodged in the wall.
I crept up behind the old guy
and banged him on the head with my weapon.

He crumpled, his body falling prone.
His spirit started floating up
and yet it tried to get back into its vessel.
The Reaper stepped forward and swung
the scythe, cleaving the spirit from the body.

He caught hold of that phantom
and brought out a large pouch.
Promptly stuffing the spirit into it,
he said, "A portal to Purgatory,
Hassle free way to deal with reluctant spirits."

We left the house and walked on.
We looked at each other and shared a smile.
Acknowledging with a nod the head rush,
the thrill, the coolness of our job,
We set off into the night for more.

It’s true you live you die,
And in-betweens there is life.

Some happy some sad,
Some good some bad.
Sometimes uplifting and glorious in your life
Sometimes dark and soul destroying.

Time does not go on,
when I am abroad.
Collecting souls of the listed names.

Name, title, wealth nor education matter,
when the strings of life are cut.
When your time is up its up.

No bargains to be struck or deals to be done,
Life just stops dead.
The end.

What you say, so short a life I need more time
To amass more wealth or power.
Alas it is not so for all you do
Is grab and take.

You seldom care or look or listen.
To the world you hurt, you miss her dying,
in your haste you do not see her cries of pain.
So few see what most are missing.

Take care of her for I may reap your soul,
but as I walk through out your land,
you must by now know that you're the ones,
who **** your land, sea the air you breath.

Through greed and power, into the mire of wanton destruction.
Most will not know what they had until it’s gone.
A few good men and women try.
Try while your world cries out for help.

Still I walk through this land, collecting the souls
of a few good men and women for as I have said
when your time is up its up and my book grows
thinner by the hour.