Death Comes To Me

I see a man in the corner
looking dark and mysterious.
I do not think anyone can see him.

I go home and he appears again.
How did he know where I lived?
He is in my bedroom.
Should I go in there?

I go into my bedroom.
He is lying on my bed.
I lie down beside him.

He kisses me softly
then floats above me.
I feel like I am floating, too.

The man is death.
Softly and sweetly,
death comes to me.


Note:My inspiration for this poem were the Emily Dickerson poems I had read.