To Play A Game With Death

This poem was partially inspired by a book I read about 5 years ago called "The Book Thief". Written by Marcus Zusak, Death is a narrator.

When I was young, I was a sickly child
My end seemed always nigh.
The doctor said "I can't be mild,
I fear you'll shortly die".

I knew my fate, the end I feared
And though I tried to flee
It wasn't long till the Reaper appeared
And said "I've come for thee".

I begged and groveled, had no shame
But those marked must pay their dues
Out of hope, I pleaded "A game,
I live if I make you lose".

Death paused, and thought, and said "Agreed,
But dwell ye now on this.
If, by chance, ye do succeed
Ye shalt never know Death's Kiss".

I then thought of what to play
For the choice of game was mine
I sat and thought, then chose to say
"I pick a game called 'Time'.

To play this game, you needn't be quick
Or bigger, faster, or stronger
The one who wins, a simple trick,
Is the one who can wait longer".

Death looked at me and said "It's done!
And now you've sealed your doom!"
Death stepped back while my world spun
Then she vanished from the room.

This happened countless ages past
Yet I have still not died
My body was not meant to last
Though, thanks to me, it's tried.

The flesh has fallen from my bones
And my bones have turned to rot
My body, the vessel that was my home
Has died, but I have not.

The game I played so long ago
Has still not reached it's end
Though once I viewed Death as a foe
I now see her as a friend.