greeter of death

a sad 3rd person poem

He used to be a man of importance
As he Struts around with a lion’s pride
And etiquette of utter comportance
Influential up to the day he died

It was a cold day in the wintertime
He was out on the town for a moment
Where he became victim to common crime
Untimely death was the crimes bestowment

His past choices are forever lasting,
over him do not feel the need to fret
He had a life with nothing contrasting,
now dancing with death a divine duet.

As he falls he thinks of death as sublime,
No sound is made when he sees his last breath,
yet he feels an everlasting wartime,
as none other than the greeter of death.