Time closes its fist,
Light thins to a whisper,
The soul rises—
And man stares into himself.

Life, a fragile chord,
quivers, then breaks;
silence gathers like snowfall,
darkness hums in pale fire.

Bodies drift,
muscles slacken,
smiles fold,
eyes release rivers.

Birds wheel upward,
Joy bursts its husk,
A golden threshold opens—
Each step is a flight to heaven.

Rest, not in shadow,
But in radiance.
Rest, not in stillness,
But in unending light.

.    .    .