Death, you thief from the other side,
Your heavy curtain falls
Over this wretched
relentless divide.
Austere undertaker
from whom we cannot hide –

The limbs now stiff
Their weight terrific –
Are you friend or enemy,
At once terrible and swift
A respite from agony
And a burden without respite.

The grave is for the griever,
Aggrieved for the departed
Whose soul has reunited
With Source from which it started.

A small life with impact
Or a lonely life with none
The dirt now compacted
Over muscle, sinew, and tongue.
Yea, long past your parting
Your songs wish to be sung.

And still remains the gift
you brought, be it a hug,
A lesson, or a purr;
Little lives, big lives, precious lives
Over in a blur.

My prayer thus is oft uplift
Your lover, friend, or confidant;
Let nothing stir you to conflict,
And an unquenchable bon-vivant
Within your heart elicit
With cymbals, drums, and tambourines –

Nay, death shall not deceive us,
‘Tis a curtain for changing scenes.
My body too shall fade away
My soul wrench itself free
And join with brother, father, friend again
To gaze upon those mourning me.

Ruth Wiseman © 2018