Death is an art like anything else done well,
Take it or leave it, it comes to us all.
Which side of the barrier’s truly hell?
In death do we rise or do we just fall

Decide now on your death bed where you will
Drive your soul for your own eternal state
Your beliefs guide you and guide you until
You see what is in store from what you create

Death leads us and guides our way on into
The creation of our own fears or hopes.
What care has it for decisions that you
Make, or how each fowl, little mortal copes

There is no justice, there’s only death whose
Scythe takes us to new life, to bliss or pain.
Good people think they are damned, so they loose
Bad people feel superior, insane!

They fear no hell so no hell comes their way!
But before we reach this state of the mad
Your swansong has to be sung out one day.
Your choice? His decision? Are you sad? glad?

Weather by the blade of self induced pain
Crimson beauty and white washed face inside
The swirls in the water, formally plain.
Do you see the beauty and art? You tried.

Failing this look at a man in bed.
His body broken my time and by age,
Holding on until his time… till he’s dead.
He drifts off looking as white as a page

In the book that’s writes him away from his
Loving family who watch him go to sleep
For the last time. See how handsome he is
His face is relaxed, at peace. Need I keep

On describing these beautiful moments
to you? A choice you now have to make is
How will you sketch your finale, what comments
Etched in stone will accompany you this

Is a once in a life time chance to make
A bliss for your demise, and an art piece
In your portrait of exiting, now take
Your time child, you’ve a while until you cease

To be of this world and of its bland, vile
Little ways and wonders. Your soul to sell
To whom you wish, be sure to die with style
For death is and art like anything else that’s done well

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