Life:
Why do you linger here beside my steps,
Your shadow stretching long beneath my sun?
You harvest all I’ve sown, and yet you smile,
As if the weight of endings bears no cost.
Do you not tire of taking what I build,
Of hollowing the joy I’ve brought to bloom?

Death:
I take no joy, nor sorrow, in my role.
It is not mine to tire, nor to regret.
I do not hunt; I follow where you lead.
You call me thief, but what I take is owed.
Without my hand to close the aching wound,
The beauty you create would turn to pain.

Life:
Pain is the price of love, and love is mine.
I do not fear the ache that follows joy.
Each breath, each fleeting moment, sings my song,
A tune your silence never dares to break.
You cut the thread and leave the loom in shreds;
Tell me, what art do you create from that?

Death:
I am the space where silence finds its voice,
Where echoes linger long after they fade.
I do not weave, but neither do I tear—
I bring the...