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Aaron Jones

"Caretaker"

'Twas in the youth of yesteryear
when Death was but a formless whim
that I came to the bank of a silvery stream
and, resting beneath a willow tree,
I there encountered him.

The willow was zealous in its growth—
its leaves and branches burgeoned wide
beyond where amber blood may boil,
the roots half-severed from the soil,
its thick and grassy-petaled eyes
above the surface softly weeping,
beneath which waited, falsely sleeping,
its unspoken demise.

I shall admit the circumstance
found me unsettled and amazed.
He sat with such unbiased pride—
no good or evil owned his eyes
as he beyond me gazed.

He bade me sit, and I obliged,
for weariness had worked my flesh.
We spoke, though I failed to understand
the ease with which a mortal man
may ask his way of Death.

"If I escaped your solemn grasp,"
I asked of him, "how would you fare?"
And this he answered. "If you fled
to a place where I have claimed no dead,
I should escort you there."

This flustered me, and I inquired,
"If I grew wings and soared the sky?"
He said, "Your wings should be for naught.
The clouds should form my chariot
and bring me to your side."

"And should I break my earthly bonds
and sail star-spattered voids of space?"
"Such bonds are severed by my care,
and easily I'd find you there
as in another place."

Enraged by this, I stood and cried
aloud a question of his worth.
I asked him if he would explain
his cold, ubiquitous domain
and ruling on this earth.

"I have three reasons to exist,"
he said, his voice a tranquil din.
"To lend your life a spiritual cost;
to teach your heart the pain of loss;
to keep your branches trimmed."

"For I observe the hearts of men.
They seek long life through pen and sword,
ignore the signs, and yearn to grow
beyond where mortal blood may flow—
and thus, I cut the cord."

I stood aghast, and could not cede
an inch of fertile ground to him.
Before I spoke, he seemed to know,
and smiled. Where the river slowed,
we parted—I, resolved to grow,
and he, resolved to trim.

-X2A