In our present state of bodily affairs
grappling with the slow betrayals of aging
we learn that time is no gentle companion
Time presses, erodes, and demands its toll
Yet I do not greet death as a friend
I do not open the door before it knocks
Life is still mine to carry
I will not lay it down early
Perpetuity may be impossible
but endurance is not
I will wrestle for every hour
that still holds meaning
The gateway of transcendence is death—
but only after the body has given its last
only when breath itself decides to loosen
Death is the softest door
we will ever be asked to walk through
The beauty of death
is not in longing for it
but in knowing
it waits without hurry —
and in choosing every day
before it comes
to keep contending
with both hands
clenched around life
© Ron Simpson Jr.
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