birth of death

 
did the bricks fall in before the bang
of the wooden lid?
did the burning burn before the furnice
was lit?

which ever way round the journey starts
know thy self is said
in many ways the timing does not count
as we travel the waves

leaving loved ones to cry on the pier
sodden with grief as we disappear
out of sight
through the mists, the distance

is too far for our two eyes
to see
across the imagined seas travelling death
away,

and yet with minds eye we feel
the warm smiles and touches remembered
perhaps in loves rapture
perhaps across the landing shared

senses travel the same journey
out into the bliss
full in knowing now
not hoping nor believing as truth just is