We fight rage and battle, ultimately to fail. Run, hide, punch, scream, none of it matters.

He arrives on time, taking what He came for. Death. The thief of life. 

But what if Death is our friend, not our sacred enemy?

Death leaves gifts we need but open. In the space where life was He always leaves what will be. What could be. But being flawed, being beings in need of order and shelter, we try to hide from His blessings. 

We build towering monuments to our pain. Swear by our lives to never visit Death’s gate again. As if we have the ability to control Him. 

No, Death is not the enemy. When a bright hour is gone, a loved one in decay, and a hope smashed into shards of grief, Death’s purpose is to carry it away. The remains of what was, to clear our ground for new life. For new hopes and dreams, and stages for joy and peace.