"The Masks of Death"

Come, sweet Death, and grace the theatre of life once more
The most haunting presence ever to ascend upon the stage
For when the curtain rises, who knows what mask he'll wear
And what magic he'll cast upon us before the play is done?
What guises will he now assume, which role shall he take
Not even Death may know until the play has at last begun

Will he be Gentleman Death
All courtly bows and sidelong smiles
His voice a silken beguiling summons
Beneath the whispering of the violins
As he invites you to the final waltz

Will he be Merciful Death
Clad in the humble robes of a priest
Wandering the land granting peace
To those who beg for his compassion
His hand closing their eyelids in sleep

Will he be Violent Death
Full of rage and thirsting for blood
His eyes reflected in an enemy's blade
Watching you upon the fields of war
Until at last you surrender to his sword

Will he be Clumsy Death
An accident of fortunes gone awry
Bumbling about in his ungainly way
Striking down the rich and poor alike
A fool armed with the power of a god

Or will he be King Death
Ruler of the gloomy dominion of souls
In his right hand the gavel of judgment
And in his left the key to utter oblivion
As he gazes at you and decrees your doom

Come, sweet Death, and grace the theatre of life once more
Let your footsteps echo clear as you emerge into the spotlight
Among all the players, it is you we most long and fear to see
Your form, all shadow-shrouded; your smile, like a siren's call
Who knows what guise you take, which role you choose to play?
But when the curtain falls, it'll be you who commands the stage.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Ero, in the year 393 AF.