Angel of Death

A bitter acceptance, or welcome embrace,
Inhaling once more – one final breath;
Resistance is futile, as all men must taste
An entrée bestowed by the Angel of Death

Shredding the mist: Enter the‘Reaper’
(Trailing him close, a keen undertaker,
Performing his duty to mourner and weeper)
The journey begins to meeting one’s Maker

Some have preferred a searing cremation,
Placed high above a funeral pyre,
Then all that remains from incineration
Are ashes, and a grave we no longer require

Scatter them wide, or bury them deep,
But how is the soul supposed to behave?
No where to rest in eternal sleep,
And hoping to cheat a punishment grave

Clinging to life – the final resort is
To challenge a certain impending reality:
A cryogenic fight against rigor mortis,
Seeking an end to human mortality

For much of the world, when men have departed,
Life is too cheap for such luxury;
Query just one of those broken-hearted,
They may say, “He’s gone, but at least he is free”

Depart taking nothing, except for those deeds
Recorded by Him that cannot decease;
And when you have gone the epitaph reads:
“Here rests a soul, we hope it’s in peace”

Camp Echo (isolation block)
Guantanamo Bay
November 2004

The astringent rules of process
Appear to be a caper
Requiring an ‘Act of Congress’
To get some toilet paper