What if death is not The End,
rather,
just another beginning?
Nothing stays the same
everything must change,
so nature seems to tell us,
regardless of our fuss.
To become a flower,
the seed must die,
to become a butterfly,
the cocoon left behind.
Winter must give way to spring,
summer to fall,
rain to sunshine,
stillness to squalls.
A single note can become the beginning of a symphony,
a single word the beginning of great poetry,
a single brush stroke the beginning of a masterpiece,
a gently spoken word, the beginning of peace.
When the symphony ends, it does not disappear,
it becomes a musical experience, year after year.
The words of the poet do not die,
on the pages, they remain alive.
After the master painter has passed away,
his art lives on, when on display.
Words of peace, gently spoken
linger in hearts, hearts opened.
Beginnings and endings, and all in between,
when we die what will happen,
we cannot know, only believe.
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