Facing Death Poem
by Terry A. Shuman
(USA Medina, Ohio)
Misty Graveyard (c)David Manser 2014
Dying's Not Living
What would you say, if starting today,
You knew precisely the date
That your life would end?
Just how would you spend
Each minute left here on your plate?
How long would you grieve before it relieved
The panic, and ache, and despair?
How well would you cope with knowing that hope
For living was no longer there?
What vision or dream would help dying seem
More acceptably imminent,
When all you can see is the certainty
Of an hour-glass that will not relent?
Would faith, on its own, transcend flesh and bone,
And pacify your raging fears;
Or would facing death impede every breath,
Replacing your dreams with your tears?
Our experts all say that there is no way
For one to anticipate grief;
For if you should try to mentally die,
Defensively, you’ll find relief
Through recognizing that you are not dying;
That you are pretending, instead.
But, what if you were intellectually sure
No future for you lay ahead?
Just please tell me true, what would you do?
Would you quit
, roll over, and die?
Or, would you protect your earned self-respect,
By embracing your right to deny.
Would your last few days be frittered away
With “dying” as your only choice;
Or… would you choose to live
,each day that God gives,
With courage and strength in your voice?
Ironically, friend, the truth may offend,
But Death is our face in the mirror.
We don’t know the day, but there is no way
That Death, all too soon, won’t be here.
So, plan for it now by making a vow,
That, since sure demise lies ahead,
You’ll clutch life with zest, believing you’re blessed
To be living…..until you are dead!tags: facing death, poem, terminal illness, life, god, spirituality, choose life
Poem on Impermanence and Death Spiritual
by Roy K Austin
(‘In my beginning is my end’ T.S.Eliot )
One red poppy growing there
waving still - inside my head,
as if to say, ‘now look at me,
for I am more than bread
and grow to make you think back
as I counterpoint the corn,
that you began to die here
on the day that you were born ‘ .... ... ...
Chrysalis against the stalk
as peristalsis how you try,
how I wonder where I walk
you become a butterfly,
find your flight, your Monarch sky
ignored by all that thunders by.
Toppled if you turn from this -
from this freeway you must go,
flutter down through an abyss
die en-route to Mexico ;
fragile thing without the sinew
multiply that you continue,
time was yours in many stratum
dazzle like a leaf in autumn :
Sometimes man can be like this,
death is metamorphosis.... ... ...
Tenant of a sheltered house
daydreams in a ' sleepy corner '
gliding through those ' windy straits '
with life's hand upon his shoulder ;
his time ebbing with the tide
folds his clothing tidily,
footprints covered by the sea ;
ageless as the cause of him -
gazing through the eye of one,
like a comet on it's way
burning brightly from the sun !Tags: poem, corn, chrysalis, butterfly, spirituality