When Death was born Immortality died,
incurable illnesses encouraged Fear,
and humans clung to Life.
Few cradled Death willingly
and lost breath easily. Others hid from it
while some stood silently next to the cot’s bars,
torn between sickness and sympathy
for this strange creature which killed Immortality.
Death received the same tuition as the other abstracts
choosing to ignore Wisdom, yet scoffing,
and sometimes winning, against Logic.
Love’s efforts at coercion was always a disappointment,
Life refuses to be in the same room,
and the Sun shivers at its gloom.
Even Darkness, too disturbed
by the everlasting, unknown end
will not give Death a chance and be its friend.
Death’s lurking and lack of personality
made others uneasy, so the Afterlife was fabricated;
It gladly and readily soothes
the paranoid, bitter and miserable mortals
but it’s an unknown ghost
to those indecisive individuals.
Death won’t confirm this belief.
Why would it when it’s blamed for empty bodies
and it’s existence is scorned?
Anger emboldens humans
to believe that Death lies.
The irony is that Death is immortal
and most of us want it to die.