Fishermen

This poem is a hauntingly beautiful description of Death and its role in our lives. It explores our fear, curiosity, and acceptance of the inevitable end.

Death, a figure wearing a stolen piece of the dim night sky.

He bore a gleaming scythe as sharp as any hawk’s eye.

He roams the land. He roams the sea. 

He roams every crevice of the Earth inhabited by thee.

 

He collects the lost souls whether they accept it or not.

He guides them to their destinations without a second thought.

He shows them their past and the highlights of their lives.

He feeds them their favorite meal and gifts them a tape of their personal archive.

However, the living all bolt their doors when Death begins his route.

They are scared of the way he collects them one after another like fishermen do trout.

All hid away when they heard his robe flutter. 

When they sensed his presence, all could only stutter.

All held their breath when he glided by their door.

All trembled when they heard the sound of scythe, trailing against floor.

However, many stuck their heads out for a peek.

Many threw themselves in front of him, begging to "come with," for that is, sadly, what they seek.

Many would do anything and everything for a ticket to accompany Death.

Many silently plead, and pray that the next will be their final breath.

Many desire to feel the silky, handmade, woven sky Death dons.

To be like Scrooge, travel through the memories, and then, poof, be gone.

To see the way others react. 

To see the way they will talk. 

To see the things that will do.

Will they steal your bed curtains right out of your bedroom?

Will they sell the clothes they stripped off of your frigid corpse’s back?

Or will they grieve and mourn you because you were the only one to ever hold them, like paper to a thumbtack? 

Author's Note

what is your favorite aspect of this poem?