The Hospice

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The Hospice

I envy the dead,
they already know
that secret we dread,
when it's our time to go.

I envy the dead,
a strange way to feel,
a thought in my head,
no time left to heal.

A heaven or hell,
or simply big sleep.
We don't get to tell,
it's secrets we'll keep.

Soon, no need to guess
if I've been misled,
by religion, oh yes,
I envy the dead.

17 Comments on “The Hospice

  1. terrific poem, Hobbo: ‘the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns’ indeed: expressing the dread and wonderment we ALL feel ! the first stanza masterfully prepares the way for what is to follow πŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

  2. it is SUCH a question! With this cancer business, I’ve been thinking about death more than usual. I wish I could believe in heaven. It would be comforting. But I don’t. So I must consider myself excellent fertiliser, when the time comes. Buried in a cardboard box, as previously discussed, with racing stripes.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I agree that heaven would be a comfort if I could believe in it, but I can’t. A cardboard coffin with go faster stripes sounds brill!

      Liked by 1 person

  3. No fear, here. It’s strange to others, but I have full confidence that we all return to a realm of pure love from which we all came. I find much comfort self-assurance in my beliefs, after all these bodies are just snail shells for our spirits. One of my teachers-

    Liked by 1 person

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