Silhouette

 Silhouette 

In corners of my room, I seek out death, 

Peering from my window, where shadows loom,

Remnants of death in garden’s dying breath, 

Edges kissed by fate, with impending gloom. 

In city’s tapestry, its subtle threads, 

I spy its trace where no one else can see,

My lone perception where the darkness treads,

Death's grin beneath an umbrella, it calls to me. 

Inviting, its daily stroll takes flight, 

A swing’s quiet creak, an aged desk’s plea, 

Once laughter-filled, now wrapped in night, 

Hugs a child, its touch tender and free. 

Facing me, its query, "Time, yet so near?" 

Continuing its rounds, its ghostly spree, 

Unable to tread, burdened by sorrow’s sheer, 

A mountain on my chest, a raging sea in me. 

Death moves on, another ship to take, 

To a distant city, leaving mine, 

A cry to halt, "I'll not this journey make," 

Take my soul, depart, let our paths entwine. 

In its gaze, seeing for the first or last, 

A silhouette, an illusion, you see, 

Eyes met, revealing truth unsurpassed, 

Not death I view, but myself, Death is actually Me. 

Maxwell O’Reilly