Death Be Not My Prison Made

We exist in ourselves with multiple connections 
We earthly move as, I, me, mine/ fictional 
pretenses all together as a trio of one. 
We enliven our ancestors in every 
aspect of past life overtures.
In physical death we are surrounded 
by/with every eternal loved one, as they
patiently wait in their spiritual wings, eagerly 
awaiting to celebrate our ethereal homecoming.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

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Richards Avatar
February 20, 2023 at 10:27 PM
Death as a homecoming. Well expressed, Dave.
Nuwas Avatar
February 20, 2023 at 10:15 PM
Lovely poem, a lot to ponder.
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