• ~The Outspoken Observer~
  • By Mark Koch
  •  
  • 10/24/17
  • Halloween is coming time to share this writing.
     
    The Taker of Life.
     
    He comes like a thief in the night.  Ominously, silently, traveling from both the realm of the dead, and to the plane of life.  His dealing, his existence, for one mere purpose. He is a contractor, a messenger, a deliverer, unto those that request his service.  His agenda is the same, from the dawning of the first birth, of life, that has ever lived, in the past of long ago, to the proprietors of present, that consume the breath that is needed to sustain them.  He strikes without warning, on a time of his exact choosing.  His orders are simple, to take the inner life force, that is housed in all.  To deliver them, to their judgment.  He offers no immunity, he does not barter, deal, or negotiate.
     
    His task is final, absolute, and with disregard to puny emotions.  A force that is unstoppable, such as the mother of the planet.  He rages tirelessly, restlessly, and with a dedication to his tasks.  He arrives unforeseen, without announcement, call, or message.  His silent inception through out the world, bestows all the negative emotions, of loss, tragedy, and ending.  For his imposition, is simple, to deliver his prized catch.  He is rewarded for this, to continuously travel unabated, unstoppable, through the stream of time, space, and existence.
     
    He flourishes on what we hold dear to our hearts.  The beings that surround us, from our genetically infused siblings, and ancestors, to the unknown likeliness's of our own make up.  For he is the unashamed, indifferent balance, to the creator of life.  He, like the creator, swing from the pendulum of balance.  Without this exact, precise, stasis of opposing forces of exactness, the corporeality as we know it would cease to exist.  He knows of no immunity, spell, or incantation, that can keep him from his duplicitous.  He is a known to every single life, that has had expiration.  Of all cultures, diversities, and ancestor-age, he is celebrated with surprising welcoming to some.  To others he is loathed, feared, and affrighted.  He is to them unperceived.  A stranger, an unknown of common intellect.  He is infallible, never abysmal, to that of which, it is his to take.
     
    He, is in his own self, his own right and will, his master.  He offers no acknowledgment to questions, from us, mere mortals of flesh, bone, and blood.  His compendium is immensurable, like the span of life itself.  He has no scullion, to complete what was set before him.  His thoroughfare of travel, is immense, from the tiniest of villages, to the most crowded of cities.  He delves into these structures of human based systems, and social classes, like a quintessence. Sneaking past the living, without the faintest intuition, to there psyche. A mere few mortals are able to detect his coming, like the fowl and beasts before a storm.  They are alerted by the five basic senses, plus the sixth, that they are deeply in tuned to.   A feeling of uneasiness falls upon there mass, like a stone into water.  Chemicals, and neurological firings of energy, peek their intuitiveness, that a omen is to be delivered, and must be answered without interference.   For many meeting this provisioner of  fate, it is the final, the absolute end, to there physical pathography.   For those that have yet, once again, deterred, the presence of him, are left knowing, that they will be faced with him again.  
     
    To all that are born of the womb, or egg, from any creature, or species, that intermingle with in this sphere of vastness, of all that is known to our encephalitic masses of matter.  We know that the laws of the universe are clear, understandable, and unbreakable.  That for each and every single form of life, that may crawl, walk or fly, that a ending is the conclusion of the beginning.  An ending that is miraculous in itself, such as the start was.  The Ancients believed that the fierier of the transport, that traveled across the river Styx, was the taker of their souls.  Just as we, have now come to known, and understand,  from our knowledge that we hold to the highest of regard, that  it is Death himself.  Be not afraid of this transcendence into the other realm. For wonders, and amazement's of knowledge, wait at the end, of the physical journeys. For death is just a rebirth, of a new creation, from a tale as old, as time itself.