Who is Death?
He does not speak. He stares, smiles, but never speaks. He's ever moving, now he's there, across the street, but then he is there, beside me, at my bedside, but he never speaks. As a child, I never though that he might be death, only a silent friend, tall and gently smiling. Growing up, I slowly left behind the though that he's there, that he's a friend. I had to, life was ahead of me.
A tall lad, he is. He is ever changing. Now he's donned black, tomorrow he'll wear white. But the problem is, I can't describe his face, his hair, or even his gender. To me, Death is a male, to my friend, Death is a female. He appears the most beautiful person there is, an angel, a lover. His ambiguity is what makes some people fear him, and makes some so happy, that they finally meet the greatest perfection.
He is a lot like a lover, really. Attentive one, at that. There when you need him. There when you don't. Those century-old depictions of a skeleton, cloaked in black robes, carrying a scythe, just don't do him justice. Those depictions are nothing but a dogma, a propaganda to beat the 'religion' into the people by fear. What a bunch of lies.
'Tis not a quest, not an adventure, but a journey, with him by your side. He often takes on a role, like an actor, a mizpah between the two people, be it lovers, siblings, or sworn enemies.
He has no cold heart, but rather a flaming one, it's flame eternal. He cries when we do, he smiles when we do. It's just how Death really is.
He is the most beautiful thing we keep inside our hearts, a closure, an end to our musical. A little discovery of beauty in imperfections.
Still, he comes. Silent, inevitable, and a little bit drunk.
Don't fear, for he comes.