What is death, but a part of life's strife?
But is it the ending, or is it a beginning?
New life, is but an old death.
Love is resurrected from itself, with new breath.
Death now renewed, life expands afresh, 'till death is enmeshed.
Going forwards, or hiding in a backwards corner.
Death allows life to watch it, meshed in its flesh.
Finally life empties itself, fully of itself. Life is death's mourner.
Dying to life, is the same as living in death's wealth.
In the end, death now being fully immersed in full life.
Life is no more being concerned, with hiding death in itself.
Life is alive, as much as death is dead. Life is on death's shelf.
Both life and death, are upended by love, as love never dies.
Love always alive, combines with life to upend death.
Love's combining goes ahead, only as love tries to live, and thrive.
Love only cries past God to death, as life goes back to God, still alive.
In allowing death to finally complete love, in your heart.
Death maintains its attachment to love's chime, a crime.
Yet we all move across time, towards the end of all time.
Is there an end of time? Was there a start, for time to depart?
All time is actually a manifestation of life, to remind.
Without time, life could not exist, and nor could death.
Time is life, living within itself, deathless, untimed.
Death is only time, withdrawing back to love's new birth.
Poetry weaves life into death's fullness of emptiness.
A fullness of words, accompanies the emptiness of letters.
Fullness of life, accompanies the emptiness of death.
Blessed endings, are only sacred beginnings. Death, life's debtors.