Sacred screams with mundane ideas

The Unescapable Being

I am no man. 
For men run nothing.
They think they can attain their right to rule, grasp at straws to scrape up what little dominance they can. 
When In fact all there attempts are futile, cause in the end riches and status mean nothing.
When I come to your door you cannot hide.
Whether permission is granted or denied I come in to claim what is mine. There's no escaping my frigid grasp. But you must wonder as to who I am. But you know me well enough, some more than others.
But who is this woman who claims power beyond any fathom?
Who is she to move with grace yet be feared at a mere mention in a sentence?
Have you guessed my name?
I am Death Herself.