It seems as if Death does not come fast enough,
the rattling of his carriage unheard
while I presently suffer at the hands of the gods.
Anticipating his arrival for quite some time,
I have been pacing, thinking, preparing,
hoping for his clemency to deliver me from my pain.
Must he be so slow? Others depend
on him with increasing urgency while
he takes his time, watching us with
cloaked eyes and a knowing grin.
I heard the scraping of his scepter
against the dirt at last, but it was then that
the epiphany came to me.