Katabasis

When the figure in black
Comes to collect
The tarsier which hit its head
Against the wall
Again, again
Until it forced a morbid end
What does death think, if anything
Of primates who cut golden strings?

The many ways that we could go
Up, down, null or perhaps through
So few of us die in our beds of softly, slowly shallowed breath
Did not fate include, when it measured, those ends beyond age and weather?
Those lives lost to war and pleasures
Those of us who simply treasure the idea of "nothing" better?

Assuming, here, we have a soul
Assuming, here, life pays some toll
Or leaves some mark upon it all
Why meter out such a dull tune
To give them worse the next pass through?