Thanatos

There is no second act; much less a third
No timely volta quickens night to day
No mechanistic god's considered Word
will end the pain or hold the floods at bay.
The time I'd set aside to turn things right
has melted like the snows on winter hill.
The last combatant comes into the fight
The Final Foe. The one who comes to kill.
Yet Death is not a foe so trembling faced
Nor held in fearful awe; dumb-striking, fast
But more a longed-for friend to be embraced
A brother of cold comfort at the last.
Into that kind embrace I'll gently creep
Forsaking lonely paths from sleep to sleep.