O Death! The Benevolent Equalizer

Arose! Arose a stormy, inky veil
of feathers ashen black!
A song of grief they sang,
beckoning me to come back. A lifeless prop my eyes
became; spiraled through all the shame
of songs left unsung… trees left unclimbed,
an echo through my mind whose decay never came. Through that sheet of obsidian,
a hand of silken touch
gestured signs of confelicity—
those hands which labored much. Pain and dread lay beyond the horizon,
but I was at the shore singing…
the unsung… seeing the unseen,
those endless waters of Styx so blessed and forgiving. That very shore a king's opulent abode,
a peasant's shabby slum too,
a prisoner's cell, a sailor's ocean—
everyone wearing an identical hue. That silken hand reached forward,
its form that of a child.
“I am Death,” that child said;
the tone was strangely comedic and mild. “What's so funny, Death?” That cheerful smile
sowed seeds of bitterness within.
“Your fear of me I don't understand,
which can't be felt or seen.
When I am, you are not…
when you are, I am not.
Why did your God create heaven?
Because of me, I'll tell you that.” The clock struck the midnight hour,
bellowing Death's hollow chime.
My consciousness dissolving… its only thought:
O how fair thou art!