Death used to frighten me, keeping me awake
at all hours of the night.
Thoughts of my own mortality would arise
in the strangest situations, at the strangest times,
disturbing my relative piece of mind
with the recognition of the impermanence of that mind itself.
I knew that someday I would not be thinking of death-
I would not be thinking at all.
I would simply be a part of the ground
or dust sitting in a vase in the room of someone I have not yet known-
dust now, dust then, what's the big difference?
Well, one of us realizes our own dustiness.

Now, death seems more like a vague invitation
with no set due date for a reply.
Perhaps I have already rsvp'd to Death's invitation
simply by being alive,
but the event seems unknown, far in the distance.
Now sometimes it seems favorable
to invite Death over myself for a more intimate evening,
but it is a hard choice to make,
and one still bringing so much dread.