Death

Death,
Is an evening,
The warmth of the day fading,
Into a cold, pink twilight
It’s not the busy hours,
Of planned thoughts,
Nor the safe moments
Of consumed nights.
It's the in between uncertainty
Of not knowing
Whether it was good,
Or it gets better.

When I die,
Let me die when the first bird sings,
Or in the silence of satisfied stars.

Let me not go in a restless daze
Waiting, waiting, waiting
For everything to change...