A poem about my best friend's persistent phobia of dying at night while sleeping.
|Dear Rose, the one whom rest eludes;
whence comes to you spirits at night,
these specters that harass your mood
and plague you when out are the lights?
Is there no pill or wonder drug
that eases you like a friend's hug?
From eve to eve you are beset
and assailed by your dreams and fear
of the Reaper's looming onset
which prompt your nightmares every year.
Like your nightmares, nights annoy you
then irk, vex and thus destroy you.
The Angel of Death's ghostly presence
disturbs your rest though you protest;
it reaves from you the assurance
that you are safe and not unblest.
But, my dear, I am here to tell
you that for you there's no Death Knell;
that you're beyond the reach of Death,
for God safeguards you forever
and gives you life with every breath
so that Death harms you never, ever!
And to wit I'll be here to defend
you for all time until Time's end.