As I approached my death
I came upon a man seated
On the stoop of the Doorway
To the End of Life. He was
Me. I. The same eyes,
And lumbered gut, the same
Lopsided eyebrows and
Forbearing smile. Except
He wore a listless vigour –
One hand on the door knob
As it were, the other
Pointing outward to the sun.
“I’ve been waiting,” he said.
“I’ve been coming,” I replied,
“Time got in the way though,
I had to thread my way here
Like an urchin through a crowd.”
“And now you are here,” he said.
“I am,” I said. He smiled.
A pause ensued, as if
There might be a choice.
Then he chuckled and said,
“We should go up inside.”
We climbed the stairs. He
Stooped; I went to help him
And put my arm on his
And like a coat, fitted myself
Inside him, arms in arms,
Legs in legs, lumbered gut
And even lopsided eyes.
My soul like a hermit crab
Secret in a found shell
Until I was cloaked in
My demise. Heavy now,
My soul slurried in its
Last breaths, I said my
Fond goodbyes, took one last
Peek at the horde and turned
The handle. A shaft of shadow
Cracked across the porch.
I pushed wide open
The old timbers of the door
And entered into the
Great Hall of Having Known.
I liked you story of the gull who ate pigeons and then people………….