A Mystery Poem by Curtis Johnson

Our heavenly Father always knows best
and has his way and will no less.
Yes, we are always free to protest;
raise our fists and push out our chest.
But at some point, we are forced to confess
that we know so little about life itself and
next to nothing about life after death; and
we duly attest this mysterious contest, this
journey through life until death's curtain
closes our last scene on the stage of life, that
God himself reserves the right to mysteries.*
May none dare declare that he does not care.
Indeed, I say that death is a most mysterious
affair until that point when God chooses to share.
Reportedly, after succumbing to the sleep of goodbye,
some have entered the gates of death and returned to tell us of the unspeakable beauty and joy of being there, and after such heavenly experiences, they had no mind to return to earth after all they they felt, heard, and saw. Assuredly, there are myriads of mysteries, but I suspect none so 'far out and beyond' the veal than death.

122920PH, 'Behold I show you a MYSTERY. We shall not all die; but we shall all be changed.1 Cor.15: 51