There is an odd comfort in the universal craft 
That is losing more life each day 
That is inching toward out claimed graves
As we work to crave out our epitaphs

Life is building more lines of the obituary 
It’s learning to befriend the Grim Reaper 
Once those last sands of time trickle down 
And the existential crisis matures into acceptance

Only then have we truly mastered 
The intricate of art of dying 
That is curating a legacy for those left behind 
That is being continually reborn
In the lives we cultivated and the love we fostered 
Our memory intensely illuminating
Shining eternally though the flames 
We kindled in others 

There is no true death 
We are innately reincarnated 
Through our immortal connection 
With others