“Talking about Death”

We gather close in hush of gentle light,  
A shadow lingers—soft, not meant to stay—  
We seek the words that might make sorrow right,  
(Tongues tangled oft when futures slip away.)  

Yet death is not the thief we fear at night,  
But memory’s keeper, tender in its way;  
It pauses at the turning of the tide  
And teaches us the value of each day.  

To speak of death is not a bell to mourn,  
But silence breaking where new hope is born,  
A thread within the fabric we have worn,  
The place where all our truest love is sworn.  

For every ending, luminous and brief,  
We shape our stories, honoring our grief;  
We say the names of those whose hands we knew  
And find them in our laughter breaking through.  

So let us speak—no need to halt or hide—  
Of all the ways life changes, not just ends.  
In sharing, sorrow softens, fears subside,  
And in our words the veils of loss descend.  

We walk together, speaking death’s true name—  
And in those moments, life is never quite the same.

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