Her Name Was Death

She came like an icy wind in the night

Pale like a porcelain doll and as beautiful as one too

The flowing white dress she exhibited drug the ground behind her

Her hair was darker than pitch and her eyes could bore through the toughest of men

Her red lips whispered promises of happiness as she accompanied them with a marble smile

Not the kind of smile that warmed your heart but the kind of smile that chilled your soul

Long and boney, her fingers beckoned unsuspecting victims closer

You never knew where she might be next

No one could track her and certainly no one could stop her

“Stop her from what?” You may ask…

And to that, I have no answer

For nobody really knows

All who grasp her frostbitten hands do not return

At least... Not the same

See some have escaped her grasp

But they come back with fear in their eyes

A fear like no other

They no longer eat, no longer sleep

They no longer seek comfort in their wives or husbands

The world for them is gray…

Many years ago I tried to talk to one of these poor souls

But I only ever got one reply

A warning of sorts

“Fear her… For her name was Death”