In the Room, There Sits a Man

An absurdist poetic memento mori.

In the room, there sits a man;
Tensely sat, he wields a pan.
Why, a pan, does this man hold?
In another comes, so bold!
A kerfuffle; fight; a scruff!
Clashing pans and grunting gruff!
Now, both men are on the floor;
Both the men shall fight no more.

Will you be like this poor man,
Armed with naught but pot or pan?
Or will you grab something more
When the man is at your door?
Pounding loud, he'll break the lock,
Coming in without a knock.

Back on scene, one pan's transposed!
One is gone! The door is closed!
He who entered has not died,
Though, upon the floor, he lied.
Still, though, on the floor, lies he,
Dead there for eternity.
Death has beaten him today.
Death will come fight you some day.
Neither pot nor pan nor gun
Saves you from that evil one.
One thing, only, lets you live;
A gift that God, alone, can give.
Jesus, only, can, you, save
From the might of Death's sharp glaive.