Tao Writer (April 17, 1948 -)
At my age, Death is always waiting just around the corner,
standing in the half hidden doorways of my favorite haunts
in a mix of shadows and light, rolling my life or death
between his spiny fingers like a pair of dice.
Sometimes He waits in plain daylight, on the street corner,
in front of the bookstore or the market place
invisible to all who walk hastily by in front of Him.
He stands ready to squeeze the artery of my beating heart
or to explode the aneurism in my thought filled brain.
A quick death is His preference, and it is also mine.
It is more work for Him when the body lingers in
a hospital bed slowly dying while humans do their
best to keep Death at bay. More overtime for a job
He does not get paid to do, but enjoys doing.
Death has visited me a few times but I always managed
to escape the flatline of his voice’s tenor. He is not a bad
Man. He even sometimes has a sense of humor if given
a chance, but no one wants to call Death his friend.
He does not wish to know my name or anything about me.
Facts are an interference with the job he has to do.
Non attachment to everything is a requirement for His work.
I am just a number appearing in His Little Black Book.
Sometimes I hope He might forget me.
He has been so busy lately with plagues, famines, disease and other
distractions but He takes His job seriously. He will only be content
when each number is crossed out and He can retreat
back to his home of darkness in the middle of nowhere.
Everyone, with no exceptions, will feel His touch someday.