Choking, as if invisible hands are squeezing,
My own life slowed to Sam Peckinpah pace
As I look at the corpse, the once smiling face
Devoted to a God who took some pleasing.
A lump in my throat, emotions at a bottleneck,
Stuck in the realisation that we arrive and leave.
That’s life, a beginning and an end, no reprieve,
No lasting forever, no clue, no use-by date to check.
In our time here on this fragile Earth,
From our first to our last breath,
We can only travel from birth to death,
No chance of a repair journey from death to birth.