How ironic is it

That the birth and the death

Of someone is heralded in by a

Cry?

 

A cry to free the lungs,

A cry to pierce the heart,

A cry to signal life,

A cry to signal death.

 

Too many venture to death

On the wings of a cry and a

Gunshot.

 

A cry into the wilderness,

A cry into the nebula,

A cry into the darkness,

A cry into the Valley.

 

The only barrier between my

Death Cry and Life is

The joy and thrill of living.

 

The frantic beating of the heart,

The nervous butterflies of the stomach,

The anxious tapping of the fingers,

The excited flittering of the eyelids.

The rollercoaster ride of Life,

The contrast of Valley and Mountain,

The experiences and pains,

All are my joy.

 

Joy in living has protected me

From the enveloping sadness,

From the creeping terror, and

From the overwhelming fears.

 

My tears and thoughts of

Poison have no effect on me

Now.

 

The thrill of living has wrapped me

In loving arms, guarding me from releasing

The Death Cry.

 

I will not enter death as a victim

Of my thoughts.

I will not enter death as a victim

Of my sadness.

 

I will live,

I will embrace love,

I will enjoy my time on Earth,

For I have Joy in the Valley.