I always thought of death as the enemy, this dark figure that would take your hand and never let it go, as he walks with you to the gates of Hell. He’d offer you to go to Heaven, because he already knew that’s what you’d pick, as he waits for you to make your choice, he says:
“You’re free to choose, son, so what’s it going to be?”
“You can either chose heaven or chose heavenly.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” you’d tell him, at last
“Can I have some time to think,or do you need my answer fast?”
“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he’d smirk “so, don’t feel stressed.”
“Just chose whether you want to be worshiped,” he whispered “or blessed.”
“And all the other boys? Can you tell me what they chose?”
“Apologies,” he admitted “but I fear nobody knows.”
“So this is it? I have to pick one of the two, without knowing which holds whom?”
“For one might be my resting place and one may be my doom.”
The devil thought silently, before he muttered under his breath,
Perhaps he shouldn’t live to see what comes right after death?
“Rather I could take you home,” he offered, “if that is what you desire?”
And so the soldier turned his back to that heavenly angels choir
Took the devils hand, and together they walked back
To where the devil had before so ruthlessly attacked.
“Thank you,” the soldier spoke “for yet another day.”
“Don’t mind it, it’s what you deserved,” death would say