Death Is A Window Slamming Poem by Mark Heathcote

Death is a window slamming back and forth in a gale
it is a fire alarm that can't ever be shut off
it is a migrating bird fighting through an endless storm,
it is a cliff fall during a ceaseless nightmare sleep.

Death is not something to fear; it's something to embrace.
What we fear is who we leave and will lovingly miss.
What we fear is only the hour, the minute, the second.
What we ultimately fear is the how and when.

It's the fear of the unknown and our lack of control
that causes our anxieties to run riot.
Death is a slow-motion punch in the guts
for most of us, it's an unfeeling-heartless slug.

Every fighter, at some point, fights against the ropes
hoping to do the rope-a-dope
but when that final bell rings, we are all champions
whatever our weight, whatever our division
we are all winners. It is only
Death left without ever holding a championship belt.