You are in a room. It's gray, circular, and unfurnished; not even a hatstand rests near the door. To your left you see a window. It's one of the smallest windows you have ever seen, second only to the one in that hotel in Pittsburgh (you're never going back there again). Looking above your head, there is a solitary light bulb dangling from the high ceiling. It's flickering slightly.

As you are silently preparing a lengthy and what you hope to be a rather intimidating broadside for the madman who thought that one bulb only assisted by a small window could light an entire room you hear a sharp rap against the pane of the window. Though you were annoyed by sad state of the room's lighting, you are now doubly so because of the possible damage done to the glass. Even as you stride to the window, each step long and quick, you begin to wonder if you are taking the room's condition too seriously. It's when you begin over analyze whether the room's owner lacked the means to furnish it that you see a seagull take flight from the window sill.

Opening the window, you see and hear and smell the ocean far below you. Its expanse is more vast than anything you could have imagined. You feel that if you were to fall into its depths, you would be absorbed with barely a ripple to show for it; there would be no trace that you were ever there.

You slowly close the window, muting the ocean's monotonous clamor, and turn around to view your formally unpleasant surroundings. The light bulb now seems like an old friend and the lack of hatstand pardonable. Perhaps the room isn't so unwelcoming after all. 

There are a lot of things I could say to you (God knows you deserve a good telling-off), but, in all honesty, the only thing I can think of saying is how you fill me with awe. It's not because I find you or your work inspiring. No, Death, that is most certainly not it.

You take and take and take and only give sorrow in exchange, but at the same time you leave people transfixed. Death, you're the inspiration for musicals, books, movies, and so much more. And, as repulsive as you are, humanity can't get enough of you. In a way that's an admirable reputation to have: to be feared and also loved. But also I'm reminded by the tragedies of the world that there's a healthy balance between those two emotions.

Death, I don't know of anyone or thing that can match this reputation. Some might argue that God does, but His isn't the name universally known in notoriety. Personally, you don't have my fear or love, but because of this (the aforementioned reasons, that is) you have my respect and you have my awe.

It is from here on the ground that I can see it: the pieces of the Sky that collide with the ground only to disappear after a time. Sometimes they're in form of water, sometimes they're like rock, other times soft and cold. No matter what they are deadly; our families are drowned and our friends crushed. The only thing we can do is watch.

You would think that the Sky would be kinder to us. It knows that we are little, that even if we climb to the tallest blade of grass or tree or even if we make it to the head of a great beast we could never reach it. If we can't even touch the it, why would we have a quarrel with it? How could we have angered it?

We have tried many times to make peace with it, but it seems to want to maintain the gap between us. We are fine with this. We would be fine with this if not for the Sky's merciless attacks on us. At times it floods our homes and washes them away. It is during these times that we wonder if a peace could ever be reached, if it simply believes us to be toys for its own amusement.

We cannot let this stand. We will be as unrelenting as the Sky and will fight our way to it. No matter what it takes we will find a way to meet it and to bridge the gap, because we will be treated this way no longer.

Dance with me.

You are the one that

knows my swaying steps,

that some days my waltzing feet

drag themselves across the floor;

yet still you will be there

matching my pace,

sharing my pain.

The rhythm my heart beats to

is the one you taught me

for when I can't lift my toes

let alone the weight on my shoulders.

So take my hand

and dance with me

because your familiarity,

your unfailing friendship

is what I've always needed.

Find these bones

in one hundred years

when their memory has faded,

when their scars

are reduced to gentle shadows,

when they no longer know

how it feels to have 

the sun kiss them.

Let the life

these bones once housed

become whispers and mist

then, when they are

buried in the earth

they have forgotten,

bring them back to life;

tell them the story,

restore the memories

of the person they used to be.

May you press on

against your foe

and arrows of hope

be loosed from your bow.

Have courage to take

another step, my dear friend,

because each one is closer

to this battle's end.