Death, in his purest form does welcome thee,
With outstretched arms, he beckons children near
“Come, wondrous children. Come, stay with me”
They follow with grace, and beauty. Not fear.
A promise land is the destination
Lands full of colour, where dreams do come true
A place like a child’s imagination
A place made for all, even me, even you.
Places with such beauty can hold no faults,
Until the curtain is pulled and reveals,
An unpleasant truth holding grief, and salts
the viewer with a vexatious appeal.
Through the gates of Heaven or Hell it’s true.
Death in his purest form does welcome you.