A Poem: Death's Release

livingtreepoetry

February 29

I think the only fear in death
is whom I leave behind.

But death itself?
When it arrives
I like to think I'll take its hand,
ask it to leave my children
steadfast in life's grasp,
and then assured,
take a breath, dive down.

I think now of the mornings
when I wake resistant,
turning again into sleep.
Rousing myself a challenge,
when the peace of slumber
seems the safer bet.

If sleep, fleeting,
is the rest we seek,
then how much the rest in which
there is no memory of pain,
no aches remaining,
no reminders on waking.

Only flesh now
sinking into bedcovers,
breath slowing,
a full surrendering into mystery.
And someone closing our eyelids,
promising us it won't be long
before we open them again.

And we,
buoyed by the thought of paradise,
and enamored also
by a blessed oblivion
are now sinking inwards.
Everyone around us a mirage
of melding colours,
no longer distinguishable,
one from another.

And no longer necessary.
Emptied as we are now
into light.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
January 2022