Tis a Conundrum

Does the caterpillar die
to become a butterfly?
It cannot live if disturbed
mid-chrysalis, mid change
from one thing to another.
Some say we are not yet alive in life
but only when we die
do we, finally, live.
Does the finely woven tapestry
disintegrate if threads be cut?
Or unravel in bits and pieces
over time and use.
Some say death be final;
nothing more than rotting bones and flesh
yet others insist that the meat of us all
was never what was alive in the first place,
that it is the soul that lives, the rest,
merely a shell to encase an essence.
Yet others believe we die but to return
to live again and again until we get it right.
At that moment, when heart ceases to beat
or brain to function, we won’t know, will we?
Or, if we do,
we cannot share this revelation
or tell
if it is all a lie.





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