We meet death at birth,
Even as we grab hold of life
Making that painful crawl through the birth canal,
With the first breath and wail.
Our time is limited,
How will we spend it?
There is a weight to the passing of time.
In our faces mirrored back at us,
The countdown seen in our children’s growth.
The ache felt down in our bones.
Old friend or foe, how will Death mark you?
Oxymoron, half of a whole, a shadow…
Attached never separate, stalking the light.
The rhythm of life, a constant reminder,
A tempo in exigency led by the grim reaper.
An epitaph of eternal pilgrimage ad infinitum.
The yin yang, integral to life as is our own shadow.
We stand in sunlight; sleep in adumbrate.