Death: Sister of Sleep

Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Ages of desire for reaching the beyond capture a picturesque photograph of
Man’s longing for truth, his natural inquiry as to the reality of death,
Something uncertain for sure, but not out of reach, for the sister of sleep
Churns like butter beneath his bed sheets, waiting for the magical time
To pounce upon the living, breathing, knowing passions concealed
Now in a veil, hidden from Time’s great breakers, the oceanic landscape
Of mortality where the ships sail this way and that, away from the coming storm
Of loss, of mourning, of hopeless understanding, as a solipsism of existence
Where nothing but the black void swallowing the sardonic comedy of this life
Portrays the disease of vitality, ramblings of virtue, and the humor of defiance:
To stand forever on this Earth, only to wave the flag of surrender.