Ode to Death

There is not one who does not fear,
And whose heart does not skip a beat,
At the mention of your name- Sheer,
As a cliff that drops a thousand feet.

Day turns to night for jovial men,
And all hope to inexplicable doubt;
All when you beckon unto them
To join you on your eternal route.

Such is the force with which you pass
That time itself does seem to pause,
And happy moments could seldom last-
You dissolve them all in your cause.

A hundred years; a thousand more-
Whatever to you could matter less?
For a person always arrives at your door-
For you, it is just a game of chess.

In the name of bravery, there are those-
Thinking from your wrath be they exempt-
Willing to seek immediate repose,
Knowing not that you merely tempt.

But night turns to day, all in the end,
And hope returns without a doubt;
All when you beckon unto their friend,
Sparing travel for them along your route.