The Hand of Death

I feel the hand of death upon my back.
Chill tips of fingers brushing my spine,
shivering through my body and my soul.
Before I can take another breath
his arms have wrapped around me.
I shudder, but there’s no screaming pain.
The cold seeps through my skin
and the strong embrace tightens
until there’s no breath within me.
My heart skips wildly against my ribs,
the only evidence of protest.
I rest my head back
and my eyes open to look up once more.
All the world has gone to grey,
and I watch as death’s shroud falls.
Then there’s only my heartbeat,
slowing now and stuttering.
I give myself to him.