maybe death is one of us
death. unfair. a sweet and sorrowful song. tying a bow on a life done and yet to be dusted or a life unfinished. maybe life is never finished except for in the hands of death. he lets out a hand to us that we either accept with grace or fight to run away from. but nevertheless we hold it. a hand gentler than we ever expect. a hand that not only guides us away, but knits the twine of our life into memory. he makes sure that not all of us is taken. maybe, in the end, he is merciful. the first lost soul who went through it alone. the lost soul that looks down at this world and doesn’t celebrate when he has to be in someone’s company. doesn’t celebrate pressing his hand on the shoulder of a great grandmother. he weeps as he cradles a baby in his arms. hugs the teenager murdered and curses because his hands can’t reach out to those who made this happen and whisk them into nothingness instead. maybe death is an empathetic soul, glancing at the power in his hands and the time in his eyes and wondering why death couldn’t just be something that is a beautiful end. wonders why his face can’t be a pleasure to see. a symbol that means you made it, and the dream you had been.
About the Author
Chaser of the sun. One-trick heart. Courtney Phillips is a self-published short story author and poet, leaving words of nature, love, recovery, and honesty, mental health, the stars, and more, wherever she may find home. You can follow her work at @courtneyphillipsstorytelling on Instagram.