Death is not a cursed, bleak end. No less holier than Life which does give us birth against our wills. Should this be called mercy? Lovingly, it devours immense those illusory grandeurs as conjured by Life. It doesn’t coerce into being existence unsolicited, granting— endowing – as if in good will a sanctity so close to nought. --- What in a life compels thee to sink miserly into a banality so wretched; to lose thyself in an aimless sail. When death does come— Embrace thee undoing with open arms. A willful end weighs as much, as an otherwise nihilist birth. Truth be told.
“No life is more sacrosanct than its very own death.”