Fear perhaps most the pulsing cries of funeral bells in the distance,
Though there are worse things than death.
I have watched the mouse face the cat,
Watched it make final stand
Watched also the student who sits alone in the corner,
Watched silent, the way that a man's eyes shift side to side as he considers options,
Plots routes of escape and waits for his Lady to arrive in the flaming airs
Perhaps death is not the worst of things, the grinding of clockwork
To a halt, the way the breath stills.
I wonder if the sudden darkness would not be for the fox facing the hounds
A boon, the struggle edited,
For perhaps it is not the death that frightens
But the dreading, fearing future fear,
Fearing that which comes slowly like some terrible beast
With slow mind and slow feet.