Death And I Poem by Daniel Y.

Death and I, the best of friends
I am old and he is young.
Though he’s seen more years than I,
he has many more to come.

I told him my deathwish long ago,
while hanging in a tree.
But he gave me so much time.
Always near to me.

And growing up I saw him there.
He was near when I was born.
His presence felt just like the air.
Whispering.
Just outside the door.

We danced, my friends and death.
Even in the weather.
Death kissed everyone around me it seemed.
They were erased like spelling errors.
My twin souls.
He is a jealous fiend, perhaps.
So many said my house was condemned,
and courteously salivated my shoes.

Death is familiar,
with a face like a son.
Visiting the graveyard every day,
my father was the undertaker.
As sons inherit their father’s trade.
so we become our maker.

“He lost his life, ” mom said
as if he had misplaced it.
Or, “his sin got paid, ”
as if his life was a debt.

The cold, with a tissue,
blew out his brains.
I feel stuck in the mud,
I’d rather be carried off
by a strong current.

I spoke with the dead.
How I envied them.
Buried beneath the weight of the world
Without concern.
The lifeless.

One day I’ll take a dirt nap.
Assume room temperature.
When it nears, I will write
to the last stanza of life.
I’ll leave it all to the old soul,
my true heir.

Death is familiar,
with a face like a son.
Death and I,
now we are one.