"I dare a step towards him, to see
Will he, now, take me early?
But Death stayed perched, with hints of glee
And he eyes me mercilessly.
A question struggles to be free;
I can’t hold it successfully;
“Can’t you leave us humans be?
A lifetime is too short to teach
The grace of dying blissfully."
A portion of a poem I am prepping for submission to a big literary journal. Already sent to two other journals