Is It the End, Or the Beginning

Death doesn't barter, it bares no remorse. Death doesn't falter it's matter of course. It bares no false whiteness, makes no mistakes It never brings back whatever it takes. It gives no warning of it's arrival Death has no match, It hasn't a rival. Death isn't gracious, courageous, or kind Death isn't pleasing, it's rebuked and maligned. Death has no lover, no friend of it's own Except what it favors, mans flesh and bone. Deaths seldom wanted, except by the few who open their arms, and bid life adieu. Death can't give back, it keeps all it's winnings Is it the end, or just the beginning?