Death on my Shoulder

Dying to oneself

Can be the rebirth of someone true

~

Dying is something I don't do well

I keep telling you to hold on

I haven't quite made friends with you yet

I want to be ready for when the time comes

~

But years have gone by

And each time my body makes a rare sound

I find myself scared and alone

Wondering if you are letting me know

That my time to accept has run out

And that within the next moments

I'll fall into a bottomless pit

From which, I, as the way I am now,

Will never wake from again

Not in this form, not to this life

~

I'll become a non-entity

I'll be viewed, and what they'll find

Will be an empty shell

Like Jack Lemmon declared in "Some like it Hot"

‘Seeing me like this, unawares, unable to get up and justify,

I'll die of shame’

~

How silly a thought that couldn't possibly exist at a time

When all thoughts will have vanished from the inside of my mind

And yet, the idea of having died and being seen dead

Is something that keeps haunting me

In a way, I almost wish I could be cremated right after impact

~

If you must come, then come, but take me whole with you

Lift me up, make me one with the air

Let me rise high up into the trees

Let me reach the sky

My energy unbound and free

But before we undergo this final voyage

This rise to novel frontiers

Can't we just sit down, have some tea and have a chat?

~

I'd like to not be terrified on the day you come

I'd like to know that I have overcome what much of humanity believes

Is the worst of things that happens in a human's life

I'd like for you to come and take me by the hand

Whether I meet you in my sleep, during a cataclysmic event,

While on the operating table, during intimate torture

Whatever this imagined scenario may be

I'd like to know that you and I by then will have shaken hands

~

All the pain is really reserved for those who watch loved ones go

We are creatures who thrive by virtue of attachments

And when you come and you sever us from people

With whom we’ve shared our lives

It's a mighty punch that you deliver

Because many of us haven't remembered the art

Of remaining in touch with the dead

Communing with the departed in celebratory reverence

~

Who says the end point is the day you come?

We are just confused about new beginnings

Religions have successfully warped our minds

Teaching us about opposites in the guise of heaven and hell

And all the rituals we have to observe

If we want a healthy afterlife

~

You have received a bad rap throughout western history

All the paintings that depict you as the grim reaper

All the darkness surrounding the hour of your arrival

Although religions speak of salvation and of God's good graces

You are still a bad time to overcome

Your wake is made up of teary eyes and mourning minds

Of sad flowers wilting on cemetery plots

~

I want to strip you of my mother's image

The one she so mercilessly and mindlessly

Imposed on me

I want to address the way I've been avoiding you

Not seeing you, is not seeing you properly

You have been victim to a one sided propaganda

That simply needs to stop

~

Is there a way that you and I can make amends?

You are, after all, another transformative agent

I don't think you wish to be feared

You must be yearning for the living to make friends

Aren't you just another opposite?

What would birth be without you?

What would all this striving for happiness be

If there wasn't a transmutation up ahead?

~

You and I, we seriously need to facilitate an introduction

A genuine one this time - one that allows us to communicate

While I am still living, and which will help me invite ascendance

At the hour of physical obsolescence