These figures moving in my rhyme, Who are they? Death and Death's dog, Time. - N. Scott Momaday
Death is not my friend
your grave is paid until the end of the decade when a yellow bulldozer comes rolling on the churchyard gravel somebody is paid to do this, paid. it won't take long, they are discreet your stone becomes the pavement on which children meet or some guy commits a heinous crime and your memory is strung ...
Great was that chase with the hounds for the unattainable meaning of the world. And now I am ready to keep running When the sun rises beyond the borderlands of death. - Czesław Miłosz