Written by Helayna Redmond-Ball.
Content Warning: Mentions of death/dying.
There is a little man I know, we like to call him death,
Even just the thought of him can make you short of breath.
We know him like an old friend, you’ve seen him here before,
But we fear the day when he’s knocking on our door.
A thief of all our loved ones, creative in the act,
A mentor in our lives, with the cause of his impact.
Humans start to tremble, if they ever hear his name
As if admitting that you know him, should make you feel ashamed.
A condition of us living, he makes us value our place,
A reminder not to give up on the running race.
His visits are unpredictable and always bittersweet,
When he is successful—it makes us feel defeat.
We cannot protect our loved ones, from the grips of his great hands,
Nor can we protect ourselves from his emotional demands.
It’s okay to cry because of him, to kick and scream in pain
But do not let it silence you, do not let his power reign.
He will take our whispers, he will bury them in the dirt,
Because no one likes to talk about, just how much they hurt.
Consumed by these emotions, we cannot let it out,
Who is there to hold our hand, when we want to shout?
Why do we feel uncomfortable, to admit that he exists?
We were never taught to comfort someone, with a step by step checklist.
Death is going to visit, in everybody’s lives,
I hope that you are prepared, for the next time he arrives.
Helayna Redmond-Ball’s work appears in the Tension, and Order editions of WORDLY.
