Death

We can temporarily distract Death, but we cannot fight him forever.

He is the rip tide in the ocean which pulls a toddler beneath the waves.
The lull in the wind which drops a base jumper onto jagged rocks.
The smoke which blackens the lungs of a newborn baby.

Shaking the earth and splashing the seas,
He plays Russian Roulette with our lives.

Death waits patiently,
hand on scythe,
to erase every trace of our existence.