#16 some are spared

Life and death,
while brutal enemies,
remain interlocked,
and although I run, run, run;
death runs faster.

And when you spoke to me,
your voice pouring from a failing body,
the night before you were due to die,
and you asked me to sing your requiem song,
death was at your door,
and mine.

But you did not die,
because sometimes
some are spared.

But you will,
and so will I.

But –
will I face it
as you did?
In peace, in faith,
in hope,
in blessed weakness?
Or will I scream and rail
and beg and clutch
with cursed strength
for something else?