Death's Claim

Death's Claim When Death claims the body, the pale unwelcome guest untethers the living soul, renders flesh and bone into dust. The body's mortal suffering is swiftly melted down and, like the body's blood, dissolves in Death's cold hand. The spirit soars and sings, the senses embrace the bliss. The heart, its task ended, sublimes away to nothingness. When death claims the spirit, ignoring the reeling mind, the soul is a prisoner, its fickle ways confined. Flesh hangs limp on the bone; bone aches more than the flesh. The senses slowly drown in a river of emptiness. The spirit sags and kneels under its own leaden weight. Mortal suffering seems endless. the heart is disconsolate.