Death came

it was waiting all along
to tie the wreath of flowers
to close on the final door
to light a way into another.
it was there when seeds started seasoning,
when tree branches tried truncating
it was there.
as a final eye, it was in the aisle
lurking behind old wooden pews.
it was a facsimile of an end—
era, meeting, light, a time.
an old friend has come for a third time,
and it waits within many rules
many walls have seen its wars
many worlds haven’t felt its walls.
it is true, long lived the queen
but—time must continue, must begin
anew.

Ruddapoet