I wish I could tell you where this is all coming from, but it’s private and dangerous and the scariest thing I’ve had to confront yet! And so in typical writer’s fashion, I try to put words to my fears the way you would a face to that voice that haunts you constantly.
Are we strong enough to die
When we don’t know what comes after
Not for us but for everyone else
What is life after death for those who still live?
What is that comma that happens when we are done
That briefest of pauses for those who must live with our death
Do we not think too much about the period
When it’s all over and there may be nothing else to be done?
Am I strong enough to live
With those who have died
My life after their death, one stream of loving and praying
And an eternal solitude that is as internal as it is irreversible?
I question knowing I have no control
And my dance with death continues
I touch him and I recoil
I sense him and I stiffen
And pretend that I can deal
And so my dance with death continues
And I am only strong enough to die
