A Brush with Death by Richard Bell


When the wind extinguished the flame, the house fell into darkness and death in scarlet robes climbed the stairs in hypnotic serpent twists
In my bed, in my final hours I can reach out and grasp the light of heaven, waiting for stillness as on my brow the reaper places a steady hand
Regret meanders in and out of my chambered heart and cloistered head pointing rudely at my life’s indiscretions as the staircase to the blinding light is revealed
A sight beheld my withering eyes, upon the blast of horns, he spread his mighty wings and smiled as an old friend would smile when meeting in Elysium field
“I’m glad to see you, sweet death for my heart desires the peace of passing and my soul prowls this flesh cage as an agitated lion would. Show me life’s events in brief before my judgement call”
But all at once death folded his black wings and gazed upon the polished floor for in his hand the hourglass was not spent of sand and quick he flew till he was set against the moon and small
Why was I spared what I was sure was my last breath this hour?
Could it be unfinished business calling that I had more seas to chart or mountains of the soul to climb?
I pondered this thought over. I mulled it like a winter tonic and all at once the crushing stone that was the fever lifted and a gentle voice said “You’ll be fine”
At night, I stare up at the moon to catch a glimpse of his silhouette, the hourglass and gleaming scythe blade. For those with failing eyes and shortened breath a welcomed sight
Life is such a fragile vessel, a bauble on a Christmas tree. It shines for such a brief time so make each moment count as three. Cling to it and leach out all it’s joy for eternity is the only gift brought to you by Death.

Grim Reaper

Grim Reaper

Original dark poetry by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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