Death is a thief. That is what they say. Stealing what we hold dear.

It is stealing my joy today thinking what would happen if…

and I cry, even though you haven’t died.

Death leaves us with only grief and an overwhelming fear.

I once worked in an old folks home. I saw his soul leave his body,

I cared, or was it just curiosity? I didn’t really know him.

Death is a shadow, that is what they say… that looms over us all.

I am new to death, even at my age… my Father, my Sister—

Lost to the pandemic. I didn’t really know them.

Death leaves us feeling hollow as we watch our loved ones fall.

I never had the courage to say what I wanted to say, but if they were alive,

I would still—not have the courage. So why does it hurt?

Death is a reminder of how fragile life can be,

It has motivated me. Do it NOW, because tomorrow is not promised—but,

I want tomorrow and the thought of not being here makes me sad.

How quickly Death can hinder all we thought we’d see.

I am afraid my Mother will die. It could be many years or tomorrow,

And I am sad because I am helpless. I can’t help but feel—I don’t really know her.

Even in the midst of death, there’s a glimmer of hope—

That’s what they keep telling me. Do I believe it—just so I don’t cry?

Otherwise, I might lose all of my joy and cry every day.

They say—one day we’ll draw our last breath and our souls will be able to cope.

Is that what keeps me going? The hope to be together again—

Or is it the fact that we all die? So what the hell? Heaven or Hell or something else?