Perhaps death is just a brief transition
From one hell to another–
A disconnection from the passion ruled tempest
Of crazed harried turmoil ridden
Slavery to insatiable desires
Changed for a maudlin endless
Icy cold and mist-filled vast barren
Nothingness of interminable boredom.
Who are we to know
Even up until the very moment
Of the last agonizing breath
We labor to bring into our
Dying bodies in that last
Long pause between
Here and there –
Between the misunderstood and unknown –
What it is that really IS?
There will be fear,
For certainly almost every soul,
No matter how hardy and stout-hearted,
Faces THIS moment
With some form of timid trepidation.
But will there be peace
Upon that final surrender?
Will the terrors and pain,
The guilt ridden caustic memories
For ever be loosed –
Leaving naught but the happy joys
Of serene pandemonium?
Oft I ponder in the many
Frenzied placid moments
When mind and spirit
Wage the terrible gyring
Dance of irrational-rational thoughts
Of this dire discursive debate
What it is that really IS –
And what minuscule, irrelevant
Thoughtless blundering tepid role