Not proud anymore

Death is worse than it used to be.

In the old days, people died all the time-

expectant women, babies, fathers gone to war;

the young, the old, the neither here nor there.

Delicate ladies lay on sofas for years

dying in public from the inside out,

but we are made of stronger stuff and choose

to live until it is too hard and then

we rest. In those days death knew its place

as enemy- now it masquerades as a friend

who rescue us from the pain and tedium of age.

But when death shows its hand, its out of season

power, it reveals just what it is- the ancient

foe of all that is life- the cause of humanity’s despair.