Death

Tracing my finger along the walls,
Walking down hallways, to me Death calls,
It curves and curves and never stops.
The sky is dotted with flying flocks.
Mossy bricks that try to hold
The soul in which this body sold.
I'm just a shell, a sleeping dead,
Inside the coffin just lies my head.
Flickering torches that paint walls white,
Green that bounces off green moss' light.
The hallway comes to a straight line,
I walk forwards, seeing death dine
On dead bodies and tortured souls
In forms of smoky wisps in bowls.
He beckons me with a crooked touch
My chin within his small fingers clasped.
His hollow eyes on mine are trained
He shakes with pleasure of a soul gained.
But something stops him, holds him back,
In his mouth, my soul he lacks,
"It's not real," his voice rasps to me.
He gave it back, and let it be.
Before I went out of that hall,
I turned again, to Death's call.
Right behind me, his black clothes swirl,
"Don't go yet, not yet, girl."
I stared at him with hollow eyes,
Eyes that have been through so many trials.
His last words have stuck with me,
A pledge to life I'd never see.
"I set you free from where I lain,
Just live and breathe, and don't die again."