A Conversation With Death

I sat with Death in the front seat of my car 

Under the old rusted street lamp down the 

street from my home.

I found him sitting in the shadows off the 

highway last night,

Gave him a cigarette and asked him to 

keep me company.

He held my hand, though I couldn’t feel 

his skin

His presence felt cold yet strangely 

comforting.

He asked me through cigarettes puffs, 

“Why do you think of me as strongly as you do?

You know nothing of me, what if I am not 

what you want?”

“I find solace in what I do not know; you 

are my greatest fear,

And yet you are what I wish for the most.”

Death chuckled, put out the cigarette by 

his feet,

“Why wish for me now when we are bound 

to meet eventually?

Whether fate decides when it’s your time 

or you determine that yourself,

I will take your hand and you will be one 

with death.”

Tears ran down my face, my voice began 

to shake,

“And then? What will happen next? Will 

you stay with me, or will I be alone again?”

He looked me in the eyes, “Perhaps it is 

best to keep that unknown.”

He pressed his lips to my cheek, I felt my 

skin start to melt.

He left me in an instant, alone in my 

car under the street lamp,

Leaving behind the smell of his cigarette 

smoke, regret, and false hope.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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