Death has a way of coming
So many means resulting in end.
We hold, grasp, plead, and beg
But when it is finished, we bury and bend.
Spend the entirety of our lives
Seeking to prove our worth
At the last exhale of breath
We once again return to Earth
The questions linger with all that is left
Was their life worth more than bones and skin?
Will the empty chair be filled or always exist?
And how does one contain all which was within?
Perhaps the end is the means to begin
Perhaps to die is to truly live
Maybe the expanding of lungs concludes
We are gifts that eternally give.
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