DEATH Poem: DEATH, by Stacie Whitney

“You know you almost died out there,” he said to me.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” my reply.
For you can choose to believe in death
Or not.
Either way it’s laced with fear
Until you realize that
We were never actually born.

But always were.

Emanating, radiant beings of light
Sparkling, shining, luminous.
Infinity itself
For just one speck of a second,
We plea
Or are pleaded with
To take the plunge
Into form.

Nothing changes when we go back home
We were already there, we never left.
Tho perhaps we became a bit
Raveled up
In the story of form
The flowing, the fulfilling, the flavours.
And we forgot that all along

We’ve been tucked into our sacred bed
With those we hold dear.
We never left them, only forgot what they looked like!
And now I see your deep, wild godly eyes again.
And oh, I am home. Precious, holy, beyond words
Or form.

“You know you almost died out there,” he said to me.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” my reply.
For you can choose to believe in death
Or not.
Either way it’s laced with fear
Until you realize that
We were never actually born.