When death comes like a starving wolf pouncing on a helpless lamb,
I am the meat, but He is the blood, and death does not own me, for I am the slave of another Man.
When death comes like the jailer with the keys to the door,
I step into the brightness, neither to wonder or wander anymore.
And I look back to see time was but a map, showing the paths to narcissism and the paths to love,
stairs to the loneliness below, and stairs to the friendship above.
And each name a delight in my mouth, each friend my sumptuous meal,
rendering me nourished, satisfied, whole, and real.
When all is said and done, I am just a domino in a long line,
and on queue, I fall tipping another, for no one can simply visit time.