Death Wins the Short Game

Death, my old friend

I’m afraid we are at an impasse.

We’ll just need to agree

to disagree.

 

You come to take all my beloved.

I can’t let them go.

 

I’ll look the other way

pretending not to notice.

You’ll carry on

taking what you can.

 

But know, my friend

this arrangement is not forever.

 

And time will come—

 

When all you’ve gained will be lost.

And all I’ve lost will be gained.

 

Our charade will be over—

 

No, not friends, old death.

Not friends at all.

 

But carry on, death

you hold all the cards, for now

I’ll look away while you take the pot.

 

Take it all

and carry on,

but only for a little while longer.

 

~FS