Death My Father

the cold metal of the reaper's scythe
caresses my chest
death's fingers massage gently my throat
cradles me lovingly to his robe
rocking me to sleep in my bare wooden casket
as the flames of hell engulf my tomb
and i am comforted by this warm
and subtle light
take me death when things get bad
death my father
i trust in you
you'll never let me suffer