Of no use is to death what kills. 
of no likeness to it the force and might 
that send souls flocking away 
in the name of what’s wrong or right. 
No interest does it also keep in what wills 
to love; to sacrifice; to die 
a liberating death. 
 
It dislikes 
to visit that which invites 
it and doesn’t tremble upon the sight 
of the Grim Reaper’s Scythe. 
 
It’s not bent on receiving 
what came unto it 
from the light 
that gave it life. 
 
It comes easy to those 
who wrestle with pain, 
for it’s the only time 
they don’t feel the need 
to put up a fight. 
 
Death isn’t a ghost that frights 
you under the shaded hues of the night. 
It isn’t a void that sucks you in, 
but the ailment that grants you a respite 
from the dimming lamp of life. 
 
Save all, now, that are nullified 
to the scare of death. 
Save those who love and suffer, 
those that give away life  
and don’t stutter. 
Save them, 
and those that are left 
are taken away by its force, 
and that’s one way to go. 
 
Of those who escape its grasp 
are none; only those that 
escape its wrath 
and those that don’t.