18 December 2010

The Visitors

It is I who chooses the time.
It is I determines the place.
All I ask is that you be present.
And whether you be in slumber, or naught,
I take no heed.
My needs are few, my requirements even less.
It is enough for me to encounter icy roads and careless drivers.
What is a slip of the scalpel when your time is nigh.
Or, a misguided drunk.
Accidents happen.
All it takes is a lift of my hand.
Then the sweet rush of air I so willingly ingest on your last exhalation.
I am death.
No appointment necessary.

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