On His Death Poem by William McGehee

Kneeling, praying, as a fervent saint,
For the one going early to his grave.
Not remembering the life which God gave
To the body, now with a heartbeat so faint,
Face pale, but spirit no man could taint.
His life, no man, nor medicine can save.
His friends all weep for the life that might have
Been his, but he sees death not as a restraint
On living, but as a ladder so the mind
Might climb to greater heights, and use the sight
Of those not trapped by flesh. Now eyes that shined
Start to close, focused on that strange delight.
For us it seems strange to be inclined.
Not to be afraid to enter into night.