Mourning Has Broken

You will die,
Really die;
Not go to heaven,
Or transmigrate,
Or watch, or haunt,
Or even sleep in peace,
But only die,
Like a burst bubble,
A forgotten song,
Flushed toilet paper.

This is your gospel,
Your Good News,
Because if you can digest this one thing,
Death,
Once and for all,
You can be free.

Right here,
Where you are,
In spite of Death:
The rain continues to fall,
The breeze continues to blow;
The Sun warms,
The ice melts.
Couples row on the river;
Children play in the sun;
The laughing lady kneads her dough;
A dog pees against a favorite tree;
Church bells chime;
Colors riot.

Everything has its limits;
Everything has an end;
Death is simply the wall
That surrounds our little garden:
Why stare at the wall
When there is a garden?

We are the rowers;
We are the children;
We are the laughing lady,
The dog, and the tree;
We are the sun and rain;
And when Death takes us,
Being all these things,
We remain.

Stand still.
Be silent.
Watch,
Listen,
And be this world,
This world that doesn’t have you in it,
Because you are already
Dead—
Contentedly dead.