It Is
It doesn't see you.It doesn't know you.
It doesn't see
the wonderful smile,
hear the infectious laugh.
It doesn't hear
the notes as your fingers
dance across the keyboard.
It doesn't know or even care
when the sound of children's
laughter drifts through the air.
I doesn't understand that
laughter so rich brings tears
unbidden to eyes alight with love.
It doesn't feel the gentle caress
of hands that smooth
the worried and troubled brows.
It doesn't care.
Why should It?
It does not feel, it only consumes.
It is that which we cannot escape.
It comes.
It takes.
It leaves.
It is Death
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