A conundrum, tis death that comforts us, alas! yet makes us live.
To avoid is the main goal of life, however binds the strongest of hope.
An elixir opening realms of what can be, intoxication from fear unknown.
Building the courage to stride on to a future uncertain.
Through storms and snow, flood and drought.
It is the effervescent light shining upon our blackest horizon.
It is the famous inn talked of in every small town,
With the best of fine dining, and quiet restful sleep.
Cupped in the hands of beautify sculpted Angel safe.
Peacefully sleeping, lost in the gift of ecstatic dreams.
Yet who left to make the beds for the poor, naked souls.
Fearful avoidance, yet none escape long.
Death shows the glory of the great mystery above.
This the poor man's prize, his ancient native home.
Vast portal opening on unknown majestic sky.
I rue it never seen, until the day that I die…
Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre May 30, 2009