Curse at your existence, for it will end,

The flickering flame of life extinguished:

And what will happen when you are dead?

Why were you born, if only to die?

All things accomplished, worthless: why?

And what will happen when you are dead?

A trickling stream of fear, reflecting that radiant flame,

Becomes a raging white river of denial and pain,

And what will happen when you are dead?

When your soul is lost in that raging sea water,

Not existing, send to the eternal slaughter,

And what will happen when you are dead?

Will you pass on to place so profound?

Death is not skull, a scythe, an eternal darkness,

Death is where all is lost and none is found,

Death is not a place, a person or likeness.

And what will happen when you are dead?

Tumbling in the endless abyss of the dead,

Where all knowledge and emotions exit the head,

And what will happen when you are dead?

Death is but a word, loosely describing,

The end, finale of another being's surviving,

The precious, radiant beacon enveloped in darkness.

By James Womack