On Death

On Death: A poem to our humanity

I see you at the beach with your back turned
The life at the end of your tunnel fades 
with each step your eyes engrave on the sand
each breath you give away 
to the lies of the land.

I hear you my love.

You say you want to do your best 
in this temporal, fleeting moment they call life
But they are not really alive
They’re sleeping 
with their eyes so wired to the world 
they can’t feel me 
breathing the waves
They only see castles to build
and problems to fix so they exist
in fear of time escaping their serious grip
in a feeling of time as a solid shore of age
shaping their every move.

So tell me, who is the ‘you’
that wants to do your best?
And how will you judge it?
Is there a test? A punishment? 
A crucifixion at the final minute?
Who is the ‘you’ that has bound yourself so tightly 
in this thing you call time? 
The ‘you’ that is trying? 
Running for breath? Believing in dying?

It is false my love.

They say you have fallen from my grace
and you believed them when they said
you must try to be good 
so we can embrace after
the blood stills in your veins
and the thoughts no longer race 
in your head 
But therein lies the only test — true or false?

It is not true my love!

This is the lie that keeps you 
turned away from me in this undying moment.
I will not come for you because 
you do not need to be repaired or saved

only remembered.

Your heart is cracking open 
in the dark night of days rolling into my soft harbour

I am right here.

And I will never leave you. 

Close your eyes and let inspiration lead 
our timeless dance.

~ Clare Rousseau, June 2019

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