Death is Life

It’s inevitable, they say. That the reaper will be happy.

Glorious is the day he gets to meet you. He knows exactly.

The day when the final you, gets to meet the could-have-been you.

The day life but fades away into a whisper on the wind that once blew through the wheat fields.

That once carried the calls of war across the battlefields. That once thrusted the sails of pirate ships across the seas.

The whisper that now gently lifts his cloak to show but a mere glimpse of his cheekbone. The glistening of bitter sweet ivory.

Shimmering in the eerie darkness.

He is the dusk, and he takes you to the dawn.

But he will not judge. He is there to embrace. He is there to remind the soul that its still worthy.

That there is still work to do. Because, have you found your purpose? before your dying days?

He has long perched on your sleeve, on your shoulder, and peered through your eyes.

Grim, they call him. But clear, he is.

Clear in his thought. That you were promised to him. No matter what you did. Fate plays into his hands, as he pulls on your puppet strings.

The harbinger of death. And the harbinger of life.

And you are his to care for. Your next stop is his to decide.

To the pits of hell, to relive and relive and relive.

Or to the great halls of the Gods where the angels sing, and lay, and play and where the wine carafes never fall dry and the everlasting chorus of the bards murmour in the background.

Death is his play toy.

And he lets it veer close. Those near misses, the close calls, the adrenaline rushes that almost ended badly.

Those jolts of lightning that wake you up from your slumber. That perpetual motion that numbs your senses, that has you chasing and chasing, never satisfied.

He holds up the mirror. He infests your mind with regrets, with worries, with reflections that have you longing for better.

And that’s his power.

To have you remember Death is always close.

And to have you remember life takes you there.

To remind you that every passion, every calling, every revelation, every experience blurs the lines between the two.

Grim uttered with an uneasy spectral whisper “Do not fear what I behold. I am merely the conduit of change. Of evolution. Of transformation. Embrace me.”

Because to live truly, is to experience death.

Death of consciousness.

Death of ego.

Death of worldly desires.

The precipice of a new existence. Welcoming death as a force for good. A movement of the soul.

Where endings bloom into beginnings, and shadows cradle the light.

Where Death lets you live, and live, and live.