I don't know why, but ever since the doctor said I wouldn't get better, I've been dreaming about my death. I've had a lifelong passion for poetry and I feel compelled to write about my dreams. It might seem morbid to some, but it actually makes me feel better. It's like confronting death head on and seeing it as a beautiful thing. Because I think it can be.
Death came slowly creeping in,
Like a foggy, misty, night.
And I heard a voice say,
"Everything will be alright."
"You've done the very best you could,
No one could ask for more.
So now it's time to make our way,
Towards Heaven's golden shore."
"It won't take us long to get there,
It's just one less breath away.
And I promise to stay beside you,
To guide you on the way."
"So let go of this life my precious one,
And follow without fear.
Your Heavenly Father awaits you,
As are family you once held dear."
The most puzzling thing about my dreams is "the voice", as I've come to think of it. It's always there and always masculine, telling me everything will be alright, but I'm not sure whether it's Jesus, my late husband, my father, or someone else.