The Last Conversation

THE LAST CONVERSATION

I was sitting on my chair one Sunday afternoon.
Drinking my coffee and watching the TV, as church bells sound just down the street.
A Knock! Knock! On the door disturbs my peace.
I jump to my feet, pondering, “Who is knocking so indiscreet?”

I look through the window to see who it could be.
For it was a cold fall day and the blowing wind was biting.
Yet, outside stood a dark-cloaked man, holding a black book in one hand and an hourglass in the other.
Casting a gaze that was ever so frightening.

A chill runs up my spine, one that I have never felt.
Making my heart stop and my forehead perspire in a cold sweat.
“This cannot be who I think,” I say. “This cannot be happening.
Does he not know that it is not my appointed time yet.

I open the door and reluctantly spoke,
“Why are you here? Why have you come? I’m not that old.
I have important business tomorrow. Come back in fifty years. I’ll be ready then.
I still have a bright future to behold.”

The dark-cloaked man spoke back with words so cold and precise,
“Brave or coward, young or old, rich or poor, man or woman, evil or good, short or tall.
It does not matter who you are,
Sooner or later I must come for them all.”

My hands shake as I collapse to my knees,
“So this is it?! This is how it all ends?!
I thought I had more time!
I should have spent more time with my family and friends!”

The dark-cloaked man responded,
“Yes you should have, but you didn’t.
You deceived yourself. You thought you were the exception. You thought you were resistant.
If you thought about me more, perhaps, your life wouldn’t have passed in an instant.”

The hourglass vanished into dust and the black book was complete.
The dark-cloaked man took me by the hand, through the front door.
No more words spoken. No more deeds done. No more passionate love.
Both beings disappeared into memory and nothing more.