And What Is Death To Me?

And what is death to me?
It is but an unexplored land beyond the mountain view,
unseen, yet its presence awaits the last days...
To me, death is but part of an eternal journey,
like a land to cross, or a stream, or an ocean...
It is not the beginning, middle or the end,
just a moment, a portion meant for one day,
then, its purpose achieved, and thus to die itself...

And what is death to me?
A mere stifling of existence, eternity to continue,
a body without breath, a spirit needing none...
A passing away, merely to maintain and persevere,
only a threat to those that believe life is all there is...
yet there is more, beyond imagination, there is more...
and beyond this current lively realm could offer,
if one is truly proved a saint of the Almighty, that is...

And what is death to me?
To lose a frail and painful body, as if a great loss,
to lose eyes and ears, mouth and nose,
to lose mortal limbs that once were so strong,
yet at one's end, a mere shadow of past strengths,
and an aching of the joints, fewer teeth, and fewer smiles...
Would such a loss be so great to one who lived so long?

And what is death to me?
A thief of all we loved and lost to its clammy hands,
yet life goes on, for us as surviving souls,
our hour has not yet come, we merely weep,
we endure, we move on, like waves to the shore,
we explore, for what else is the journey for?
Are the skies our limitation, or the stars on high?
The moon itself is known, visited, overcome...

And what is death to me?
I smile at the awesome, pretentious delusion of it all,
for I am a spirit being, merely visiting this realm,
on a one-way trip from God's Earth to God's Heaven,
like a billion souls saved by a Father's great love,
like a part-time parable to all God's holy angels,
or a winsome child more precious than the Pearly Gates...

And what is death to me?
A scorpion without a sting, a snake without venom,
a pretence of a threat to my immortal destiny,
for all my legacies will remain, doing the good required,
extending the Kingdom of Christ upon this world...
Oh, death, for shame, to think I am defeated...
I have already won the war and that by faith,
a gift of grace, a blessing beyond belief...
I am only subject to my Father's love,
and thus, according to the number of my days,
so let it be...


Denis Martindale April 2016.

by Denis Martindale

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