G.R. Gaus (April 11 1950 / St. Louis)
Breath of Death
Mr. Reaper, shall I call you Grim,
I sense we’ve met before,
A very close call, lights were dim,
Since; I’ve had many more.
Perhaps you give me another chance,
Not sure how all this works,
Always thought, when it’s time to go,
Close by, your shadow lurks.
Kind of glad you passed me by,
Still have seeds to sow,
Life’s too short, to end so soon,
To see; what might grow?
An unknown thought, kept inside
It never goes away,
Simply takes us away from here,
Turns body, to decay.
Something waiting on the other side,
The Reaper knows his truth,
It’s his decision to take us there,
Whether old, in prime or youth.
We’ll meet again some other day,
You’ll look me in the eye,
Perhaps I’ll be more ready then,
Your wish I will abide by.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Breath of Death by G.R. Gaus )
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