Ph: Life: Death's Post-Mortem Poem by Brian Johnston

Yes, death has always been a joke
That wise ones play on lesser folk,
And childlike eyes around campfire
Grow wide as fiction's fake desire
Invokes a poetry of fear
That truly clouds the atmosphere,
For even fools can mount a tale
Where facts can't make the story stale.

Oh sure we've all seen people die
On movie screens, projected lie,
Though close friend's death may seem more real,
The deeper truth is how you feel...
But gossamer as spider's web,
Moods come and go like salt sea's ebb.
Yes, friend is gone for all we know...
Explain what makes a flower grow?

From where comes certainty of death,
As simple as a lack of breath?
The fact that your friend doesn't wake?
Deep certainty he'd not forsake?
No found note but he's not around?
Perhaps you put him in the ground?
In anger now you call God "Fraud! "
But it's small "d" that has you awed.

It's death you hide from in the dark,
And death that sparks your dreams of Ark,
There's no surprise you think God dead,
For death is all that fills your head.
But death has been fraud from the start,
He has no sting, can't even fart!
If soul is real death must be scam,
Prepare to meet the great I AM.