"How rude, uncouth and uncivil”

a voice said, as I closed the door behind me.

opened it to see the enigmatic devil

fate stood, draped in reality.

loathing myself for insolence,

I greeted my horrid enemy.

smiling, I masked my belligerence

hid his mastery of my spiteful self, as he benignly asked for tea.

before destiny, wouldn’t you choose partial gaiety?

but I defied my urge to once again flee

he signed “the fees of life is rarely tragedy

it’s reality, made from a melody, delivered in vanity.

the clock ticked but you didn’t budge

the cup fell, fate gave you a nudge.

you mock at it cynically

look up to see nobody.

you directed yourself to the overcrowded streets

the actors said their lines- their numb greets

the lamps burnt like the remnants of a fire

what do you choose? An army or a choir?

seeing colorful darkness, a shop you perceive

questioning how he knew it was the last of your tea, you almost leave.

you enter, see an empty shelf in disbelief

then it hits you- your destiny.

you see the Grim Reaper

admiringly, you push yourself closer

envying it’s attractive aura, you pull yourself together.

but slowly, you soul wears out altogether.

blessed are those who will remember you

for they had the privilege of knowing you

but what you showed everyone, was it true?

or were you scared that someone could discreetly get through?