This For Sure Death

This for sure death that stalks,
right beside holding
my flesh and blood,
maybe a dream or not, hand.

As I live, watching that
wonderful not having, in my
living room, till the
tedium of two minutes sets in

and I with but a gentle,
deliberate or not, lifting finger,
alters the world forever or not
till I flip knowingly back,
with not even getting up.

And every day have this great
wonderful vibrant watch of a life
not lived in colour and so lifelike
or not and between flips, it too passes
with a gentle, deliberate lift of a finger,
altering the maybe world, or not, but

as always Death, in his boredom,
still holding my flesh and blood
maybe a dream, or not, hand,
checks his watch.