One Of Many

Like sand caught in a breeze, muscle, hair, sinew, and my youth whisks away. I wept, as each layer stripped away like a cocoon. Yet instead of revealing a magnificent butterfly, a husk of what I was emerged.

In vain I cried, reaching my hand toward myself, though no matter how far I stretched, my body stayed the same distance away.

The pieces of me, my essence, my beauty, float towards the waiting skeletal hand to be sucked into the void.

Death's eye sockets were empty, but I could feel his solemn stare. To him I am just another, perhaps some time ago he found his labors entertaining. Now as with any job, it has become just that, a labor.

Death has taken from me that which cannot be regained, that which we always assume will be ours.

When he comes it seems so sudden, but really, it's happening as soon as we take our first breath.

It's the ultimate heist, one that we fail to realize until it's time.

Yet in reality Death was there walking with us the entire way.

Much to my surprise when he takes me, I feel as though I'm departing with an old friend.