Of Death

• Leisa Nash, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2015

Hark, o' Death, art thou friend or art thou foe?
Pale, the Paler: banished to umbra walk.
Doomed to roam the shadows with hunchèd stalk.
Art thou not a circling vulture of Time?
Or dear soothing mother who whispers rhyme?
Art thou not a blinding devourer?
Or revered keeper; blessed light showerer?
Yet I've heard in the pyres your moaning weep -
For it is your deeds that forbid you sleep.
Are you not binder of fierce night itself?
Or humble servant of Age cloaked in stealth?
Are you not holder of the helpless void?
Or kind lost guardian that Life destroyed?
Alas men cripple to your ghost cold hue;
Should they writhe in fear or embrace in you?
When comes your silent sigh all men shall know.