You scratch your head in consternation,
Furrow your brow and respond with a question.
"You've come to me on this desolate night,
To usher me through a tunnel of light?"
It shakes its head, brandishing a scythe,
"Your head I will take for my tithe."
"What's this?" you cry, "What have I done?"
It opens its shroud, "Your time has come."
Within its shroud there is nothing at all,
But a beating heart as black as nightfall.
You stumble back, you scream, you shout.
It says, "It is not like you to pout.
"Now bow your head, I will take it quick,
And mount it on a sharpened stick.
It will adorn my wall with the other fallen,
Until it is quite withered and shrunken.
"When it has slipped down and your chin touches stone,
I will throw it into the Pit of Bone.
There it will lie 'til it turns to dust.
Then into the wind it will go, it must.
"To spread through the world, each granule and flake,
And seek out the newly born Nature will make.
The children of creatures that swim, fly, or crawl,
Will take into themselves part of your all.
"You will split, divide, and grow within,
And become a soul so life can begin.
The seed that made you good and whole,
Will repeat the cycle and further its role."
Astonished, amazed, befuddled, and humbled;
You ponder your life and the times you stumbled.
All you've seen, where you've been, what you've done;
It all grew from a part of one.
Your eyes are now open, you see the way.
You must now depart, you cannot stay.
You bend at your waist, bow your head,
And think of all the lives you'll live when you're dead.
