I Was Death

I was Death dressed to the nines,

in His Sunday best, on the way to

Grandmother's house for roast and mashed potatoes.

I was Death at a table,

surrounded by friends,

playing games and sipping champagne-

unaware of everything.

I was Death in a costume,

knocking on doors to empty houses

in the middle of November;

forgetful of how Time flies.

I was Death on a road,

aching for a night sky,

lost to the blaze

of flashing lights.

I was Death alone in a city,

in awe of the sights, the sounds,

but most of all the people,

so much like Himself.

I am Death, alone in a room-

locked from the outside-

no windows; no mirrors; no light,

no way of knowing who I Am,

who I Was, or who I Could Be.

I am Death, so tightly wound

into one Image of who I

Am supposed to be,

so haunted by myself,
that I have lost sight -