by Jay Frankston
Death doesn’t come at a convenient time
like a period at the end of a sentence,
the amen at the end of a prayer,
or the bell at the end of class.
It drops in on you unexpectedly
while you are eating or watching a movie,
an unwelcome guest
for which there was no seat at the table,
a power outage that turns off all your lights
and ends your existence on this plane
to the dismay of those who loved you
and wanted to have another chance to tell you.
Death doesn’t walk a straight line
or stand mute like a sol id brick wall.
It zigzags and dances at your wake
allowing you a brief glimpse of the mourners
assembled in celebration of your life
before taking you across the rainbow
Death doesn’t mourn or grieve,
no tears of sorrow from the great beyon d.
The reaper separates the wheat from the chaff
freeing your soul from its earthbound shackle
and letting you soar free and undefined.
Death doesn’t recall your moments of joy or sadness.
Nor does it place your life on a scale
to sing your praises or be moan your failures.
It opens the pores of your being
to allow your essence to mix with the ether.
Last updated June 03, 2011