When the age old-Death arrives limping by the door,
the air feels heavier with sadness and fear.
Our trembling lips sadly utter hopeful prayers,
And shaking hands painfully give last hugs,
but receive numbing coldness in return…
When the rag-tattered, cloak covered Death,
trotters slowly by the door,
The room gets flooded with the musty smell,
Of days gone by, that are now but a memoir;
Whether they were joyful, or embedded in sorrows once…
When the frayed Dark Angel arrives,
old sharp scythe clutched in its bony fingers.
All pain will be gone and disappear.
Feelings of yearning, guilt and dread,
dismay and hate will whisper slowly 'the time is now'.
Still, tears of grief and agony will be shed by the living.
Because it's so harrowing to say our last goodbyes.
Because it's so scary to face our last resentments, or worries, or love - desires,
that now will never be fulfilled for the ones who've left us.
But we try to make peace with all this unknown new reality.
As Death comes knocking by the bed, and hastily asks to hurry,
for there's no time to waste.
It will indeed be the last time spent together, for us who stay behind.
Yet, a new mysterious beginning for the ones who've just departed…

9/9/2024