Death, come not in life:
offer not the knife, but the wife
and let this marriage be between me
for all eternity.
But not the truths of others,
of objective science, of subjective
demagogues, of faith or revelation,
of economics or nation,
but my truth.
Because my life is my truth,
and my truth is ruthless:
it cuts through the grain
and throws the wheat onto the heap
the chaff into the fire:
my truth does not expire,
because my truth is my life.
Death, come not in life
but come in death, in death's first minute
and endless eternity:
when there is nothing left to be lived,
when there is nothing left to be said,
when I am without pain,
have learned to value pain, accept pain,
or at least shut it away
in the vault of my heart,
then you may come.
Death, come not whilst the sun beams,
whilst the Earth swings, whilst children laugh,
whilst I've breath left in these lungs,
whilst I've love still to share,
people for whom to care,
people for whom caring is as air,
people who never swaddle
but in living so embrace,
their smile a cuddle.
Because this is my truth,
and my truth is my life.
Do not invade my life with your night,
and do not creep up on me with dimming light,
because I will see you,
and I shall wrestle with you,
and in death I will have beaten you,
can never take the brave.