Death is around, all the time

Outside of us and within us.

Death is certain, old or prime

Takes away the pain, caresses.

Every time we say 'I don't care'

When we see an infirm lying somewhere,

Every time we see bullies in action

And walk away, paying no attention,

Every time we don't speak up or shut up

When injustice springs and evil crops up,

Every time we ignore the calling within

To be our best, instead lethargy creeps in,

Every time we brush aside the little one

Pleading us while he plays alone,

Every time we admire the golden rays

Remember it's the day's sun worn out, in frays.

Every day dies and in its place a new dawn

Every moment dies and mankind, time's pawn.

Joy, sorrow, wins, losses, rights and wrongs

Nary a fixation, merely floating, fleeting throngs.

Death is not to be feared, neither worshipped nor condemned

Death is not to be mournful, neither revered nor disdained.

Death is the indication that something has run its course

And not a thing can bring it back by crook or by force.

Death is loss, and loss is death, the cuckoo conjoined twins

We feel them every passing moment, in the passing of dins.

Mourn less and celebrate more, those lives well lived, hearts touched

In the eternal stillness that follows, the vast nothingness, time stretched.

Legs feel heavy

Stomach is churning

Eyes won't open

Heart is pounding

Mouth goes dry

Teeth are chattering

Not a speck of reason to hope

No single place feels home

Nowhere to seek refuge

No hints of any siege

Nobody to call

Nothing to break the fall

A monster, not under my bed

An inchworm, slithering in my head

Something's come to the rescue

A knight in rusted armour

Squiggles and squirms, pink and hue

Lift a little and lessen the fever

Tolstoy, Woolf, Wallace & Lahiri

Now the worm, frightened and eerie

What if the worm inches in again?

I'll pick a Dickens, Dawkins, Dickinson or Darwin