Mr. Job, please tell me how.

death. a word used far too frivolously.
a word laced on our lips perpetually,
taken for granted,
taken advantage of.

it is an instant in time, a moment where all physical aspects of your life comes to a standstill, a closing, a blank. a conclusion of all your memories, experiences, feelings, mistakes, successes, and sadly so, your relationships.

the heart rate monitor represents it so aptly:
it is a question mark.

it is a blank.
unknown territory.
sacred to the individual, and personally, to the higher being.
it is pure.

what it is not, is a term to be thrown about like a rag doll, to take out your anger on, to threaten people with, to abuse, misuse and to disrespect.
what it is not, is a game.
what it is not, is an escape.

3 years you said.
yet i'm hoping with every fibre of my being,
willing to give up everything i have, including life itself
for you to tell me that all you said was a lie.




happy birthday Dad.