Back to the Dreamtime Index


Death Has Stood at My Shoulder

By Marion Saunderson

Death has stood at my shoulder
but I did not want to see his face.
I ran escaping what he would do
to those I love.
I was afraid to see
the light go out of beloved eyes.
I was afraid to see
the slackening of features I knew.
I ran
like a coward,
pretending my going
was for their own good.
I ran
eyes closed,
pushing away the knowledge
that they would die.
That time, dressed as death, would take them.
I did not want to see it.
I am afraid of death,
the cold hand
I have evaded for myself
for 1,000 years.
I am so afraid of my own end
that I cannot bear the death
of those I love.
So I move on again and again.

July 2, 1998

Greek god of death


Back to the Dreamtime Index