Death’s Entrance (Poem)

I consider the gateway of my death.

It is always before me, sometimes hidden by distractions.

There are periods I see it more clearly.

As of late the details of its appearance become more defined,

And the door opens widely and freely.

When will I pass through?

I, as with other beings, do not know this for certain.

Each moment brings me closer.

Let me prepare now.

I can almost feel the latch swing under my hand

And hear the rustle of the gravel as my foot starts over the stile.