O, that I may die
and fear not death; not afraid to take my final breath,
Too confront death;
the oldest mystery to taste of her sweet uncertainty.
I fear not death,
why should I be; the sting of death has no hold on me.
Death takes nothing,
holds nothing, owns and controls nothing.
Death moves not,
feels not, does not, has not, thinks not, claim not
Yet many fall and
faint in fear, at death they cry in deep despair.
Our loves for life
has make frail our minds and cause us to cling in fear of losing;
That which, we must,
one day give up: the fleeting breath that we call life.
Yet, in cases of
utmost pain, when agony weaved with shambled shame;
We pray for death a
welcome friend, to swoop in on a Trojan horse,
To take away our
fleeting breath and cause the life we hold so dear,
To abruptly meet, a
cherished end.
What is death that
men may fear? A predator that roams the mind,
A mystery vague, an
odor faint, a bright color fading over time,
A vision clear, yet
we cannot see, a precious life that ceased to be.
But only thus a word
described the absence of a state hold dear,
The absences of the
fleeting breathe; the absence of life.
