If I had a conversation with death,
What would it be,
As if death were a creature,
With a material form,
Passing among us in waking,
Or a shifting spectre as we dream.
My questions would be strong,
With little room for vague answer,
As we know death speaks,
To all of us in cryptic riddles,
But even so it would still confound me,
Dancing around the truth,
Leaving me to decide for myself.