We have a love/hate relationship with death. When we’re young we view it as the ultimate end to everything we know, so we try to ignore it. As we grow older, we begin to see it differently. When our parents die we know that we’ll be next, but it’s still somewhere in the future. It’s only when we get old, do we welcome death as a relief. By then, we’re tired, and all we want to do is rest. But is it the end?
The end of life is death,
When the body exhales its breath.
It’s the terminal of life’s bus route;
The final station at the train’s last toot.
Death is the only hope for the spiritualist,
And the greatest fear for the atheist.
To some, death is the cold end to life in any form;
To others, the beginning of a greater life, secure and warm.
It sends chills down the spine of older folk,
And is laughed at by the young, a filthy joke.
Life is a match, blown out by a breath,
But until it stops smouldering, there is no death…