Death, the dry dreary dread of the living.

Death, I have not known you but I do know you.
As I mull over your inscrutable business my point of departure is a crashing halt.
You know how to break hearts, you know how to tear souls apart.
You are a thief with a middle name and a surname.You steal, you kill and you destroy.
You have no good reputation to maintain. You care not what adjectival prefixes are conferred upon your morose noun.
Call you untimely death, premature death, You simply won’t be bothered. You are unstoppable in your morbid hocus-pocus.
“Worst timing” is your strategic plan. Without an invite you come in. Without notice you arrive. Every home is your home. In every family you are that member who dismembers.
Every birth is an irresistible invite to you, it’s a matter of when not if before you grace the occasion of everyone’s life with your disgrace.
Clumsiness is your preferred precision. Disrepute is your reputation.
Your track record are your stealthy untraceable bloody steps to whomsoever is surely next.

Death,The dry dreary dread of the living.

Death you are tone-deaf to occasion.
You employ gate crushing for your grand entrance. You have no struggle in getting attention. Disruption is your hallmark and wrecking havoc is your clinical act.
You rearrange the agenda of the day without consultation. You hardly attend planning meetings but when you rock up your orders are not optional.
You are delivered unordered and when you land disorder is the order of the day.

Death,The dry dreary dread of the living.

Our teary eyes and agonies of tragedy are your daily fix, you giggle when we mourn not only because you have struck but more so because you will most certainly come back.
You delight in hand crafting tragedy and human misery is your mastered masterpiece.You are deft in subverting reality.
Death listen, your incurable oxymorons are not funny.
You make children motherless and Fathers childless. Your linguistic jokes are killing us literally.

Death, the dry dreary dread of the living,

But don’t be too cocky yet. I know your power. You thrive in human ignorance.
Those who don’t know God know not your limits nor your glorious fate.
You are a terrorist par excellence. Terror is your operative, you blast unexpecting victims and casualties to their wits end, You strike fear for a living.
“You will never see your dead loved ones again….” is the gospel truth of your puerile heap of lies with which you haunt and hound the unbelieving minds of many.
To those who don’t know that your sting is temporary… your blow is permanent.
When you strike, some suffer mere sadness and some sheer devastation.The difference is Jesus.
To those who know the end game, your conclusion is not conclusive.
Death listen, your blows are fatal yet not final. You will ultimately grin and grimace at your grim lifetime career in death-craft when at last the casualties you have in cemeteries lined up are thrown an eternal lifeline.
The resurrection morning will summarily undo your gory to-do list. The grand union of parted loved ones will be the high definition undoing of your doing.
I have been keen to hear what your response shall be to the question, “Where oh death is your sting?” until it dawned to me that at that point the question will be mere rhetoric.
By then you would have shamefacedly shoved your creepy tail betwixt your ugly, scandalous and unwelcome legs and self destructed into eternal oblivion.
For when the tables turn then it will be your turn.
Oh, When I peep into the future then I see that your deathly paws have a paucity of wisdom and your deadly claws are clueless for ultimately your last casualty is yourself.

Oh Death, I have not known you but I do know you.
You surely look and loom invincible for now, but I know ultimately your end is more permanent than your sting.

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