meet your Maker
Last night, while laying in bed,
pondering the mysteries of life,
there came a knock at the window.
I approached, opened the window
and immediately fell back as a being
in a long white robe floated
into the room.
Startled, I lay on the floor,
searching the room for something to
defend myself.
The being floated closer,
pulled back its hood, smiled and said,
“it's time to meet your Maker!”
I immediately relaxed,
stood up and replied,
“Oh, okay, whew…
for a second you had me
worried”
Nothing to Worry About
As I lay in my bed, praying for solace,
wondering if my time of departure was
soon to arrive,
I heard:
“Sometimes it can be difficult
to convince a drowning wave there’s
nothing
to
worry
about”
two suitcases
Death arrives with two suitcases.
One is stuffed with soothing balms,
elixirs
and soups,
all for the bereaved.
The other,
filled to the brim with
bells,
cymbals,
party hats and
streamers
favorite jeans
To people on the other side,
their former bodies
are like an old pairs of favorite jeans
in the back of the closet;
they smile,
remember how tight they were,
and recall how good it felt to take them off
I'm still here
I wonder if anyone will celebrate my death at least as much as my life.
I certainly hope so.
I don’t mean you shouldn’t be sad, but if I may, I’d like to encourage the other part, the part that either obviously or in some subtle way has considered the possibility that I am more than a little happy.
Can you find it within yourself? I know, or at least hope it’s there.
When others have passed I’ve heard you say “they’re in a better place now”, but I wonder if those are just words.
I don’t blame you, it’s quite alright, but please, will you come my way just a little more? Will you sit down in your quiet room a while and nestle up to the possibility, the reality,
that nothing at all has gone wrong,
that death is completely safe?
And if you can come to that place, thinking of me, imagining my freedom and joy,
I will feel it,
I will know it’s you;
I’m still here