The Cold Fingers Of Death
Death is the destiny; we seek to avoid;
tho we know, we’ll go there someday;
when some speak of death; we’re annoyed;
believing death won’t take us away.
When death occurs; the body grows cold;
physicality can no longer remain;
we feel death draw near; as we grow old;
leaving only consciousness germane.
We often describe death as a shadow;
since the light, on life, has gone out;
graves for the dead are dug in a meadow;
where new life is destined to sprout.
Warmth is evidence of the presence of life;
the fingers become cold in death;
all thoughts of death; cut like a knife;
as we fear taking our last breath.
Breath is an illusion; picturing physicality;
depicting life’s natural ebb and flow;
consciousness is the eternal sum of reality;
an ocean of energy trying to grow.
Just as the physical is divided into seasons;
so is the consciousness of man;
winters and summers abide for their reasons;
death reveals the great I Am.
In the fullness of time; we’ll take our last breath;
marking the end of all earthly strife;
experiencing, briefly, the cold fingers of death;
then, awakening to a brand new life.
Monty 11/3/24. # 2,423