Death's Antithesis

The polished perfection of the chrysalis

Etched in gold or silver artistry,

A house of mystery and hidden bliss

Transforms the worm into the butterfly.

So too this body beautiful and flawed

Encapsulates the soul of things to be,

For one who works unseen and is the Lord

Of all creation sculpts our destiny.

Unfelt by us he works unrecognised

And slowly to a few his face unveils,

For centuries the avatar despised

By man who in his littleness fails

To see the light that burns within his breast

And must be born and die a thousand ways

In endless lives to labour on oppressed

And suffer the blows of fate that mar his days,

Forgetting God who deep within him dwells,

One who is the dreamer and the dream,

Suffering through undiminished hells

To reach at last the ever-flowing stream

Of truth that widens into seas of bliss

And light divine, death's antithesis.