HE
He’s all around us, dark and hidden.
He reaps the end of those unfortunates.
He rests in the dark abyss
He reaches with his bony hands peeking from his sleeves
He grasps his sharp scythe as a Sheppard would his staff.
He glides inches from the ground, millimeters from our souls
He is cold and unwanted; the sun sets in my body
He has overstayed his welcome, but have I?
He decides whether to severe my thread of life
He decides when it is my time; will I accept it?
He spreads his frigid poison, when he chooses me, ready or not.
-Omar Artola
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