Everyone whispers about Death
The passing over
The moving on.
Everyone talks quietly and in murmurs
About The Great Beyond
As if death can hear you
And wishes to remain anonymous.

But Death is final moments and
Taking your last breath.
Dying is the ugly part.

Dying is getting smaller
Just lying there in bed.
It's frailty and exhaustion.
And a growing sense of dread.

Dying is holding a hand that has no strength left to squeeze.
Talking to someone who can't hear you.
Listening to their breath wheeze.
It's waking in the idle night
And learning to dose morphine.

Death is very simple.
You close you eyes and die
But dying is counting your ribs
having bones for arms and legs
Making hard decisions
And trying to say goodbye.

Dying is praying when you've never believed in God
Hoping it will be over soon
So life can start to move on.
It's a constant feeling of guilt and remorse
Of thinking shellfish thoughts.
It's waiting
And waiting
And waiting
Until suddenly you're not.

No one talks about dying.
Just the end result.