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.
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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.”