The Angel Of Death

The angel of Death appeared to me
as I sat beneath a tree
and holding out his gnarled hand
he said, “It is time.”

And I said, “No, I will not
accompany you.”

He said, “No one refuses death.”

“But I am not just anyone,”
I proclaimed. “For I am life,
and you cannot take me without
my agreement.”

Death sat down on the grass
in front of me and said,
“Look around you. Wars and
pestilence, famine and drought.
You disease this earth by
your very presence. Your
greed verily begs for death.
And you would refuse me?”

And he laughed then, long
and deep. I studied him and
then I asked, “And who
appointed you judge and jury
over those you come for?”

“Why, God himself, of course.”

“And is not God the creator
of all that is good?”

“Alas, it is so,” said Death.
“He and I are at opposite
ends of a spectrum.”

“Then you lie, Death! If God
is truly the creator of all
that is good and you are his
opposite then it is you who
create war and famine and pain.
Be off with you now, never to
show your face here again
for the spirit of life
is good, and will prevail.”

Death stood and shook with rage
as he slowly disappeared
until only his shadow was
left upon the ground.
It was then that the sun
appeared from behind a cloud
and removed Death’s stain
from the grass.


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