It is so very final when death
has taken charge and someone
loved has left this world;
it’s all so very hard.

There’s nothing like the touch of flesh,
the warmth of smile and eye,
which life bequeaths for just a time,
until it is denied.

It’s all so sudden and so strange,
with only shell to see,
of someone once so vital;
of body with no me.

And yet the dance eternal,
would promise there is more
and they have simply slipped
outside, the Self as they were born.

There is no point in consciousness,
unless it does survive,
and takes the truth of who we were,
beyond this world of time.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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