Quickening

Quietly you creep; you creep to my door,
Tap; tap too persistent to ignore.
Tales you spin; spun so smooth,
Glides down like gin and vermouth.

Coughing, choking steal my breath,
Praying for a quickening death.
Gradually you steal; steal every year,
Stench of mortality ever so near.

Notions etched passions in life,
Grim Reaper come twist, your dull little knife.
So wrinkles and gray hair follow a wake,
While slowly I die each breath I take.