The penultimate death is this:
The underground passage to an unknown land;
The unseen forest creek leading to the deep ocean;
Eternal darkness of hidden rest;
The track divided, whether right or left we have already chosen.
It is a separation from all we love and rapture we have known to plunge into
A solemn welcome to the sea of hidden humanity.
The masses fear it
but we all must travel
The master Death is this:
He awakes you every morning, sorrow lowering your brow;
You roll over, wondering which way he will abuse your body;
He plants today the brutal children in your path, threatening, battering;
He is the menace in the officer’s gaze as he destroys your safety;
He is the fist of the skinhead landing on your face, your gut, your crown;
He is your rapist, thrusting his hell within you;
He is the kidnapper, forcing you to kill or be killed;
He is the comfort of the liar, easing us all to the ideas of war and famine;
He is the persistent nausea and pain of what another calls “healing”;
He is the slow quiet desperation, certain of an untimely ending.
He is living dystopia
For all the lowly.
The defeating death is this:
The newborn father awaking to give the mother respite;
Forgiving he who stole your life;
Giving the last coin to bring the injured to a healer;
Remaining awake all night to prevent a friend’s suicide;
Quitting your job because they abuse the poor;
Standing before the soldier that he
won’t shoot the innocent;
Daily waking exhausted to serve those without hope;
Becoming a slave to comfort the slave
Healing lepers and so becoming a leper;
Serving prisoners as a prisoner;
Ending on a hateful blade.
Embracing the master
Is death’s defeat.
