When asked why I am so fixated on death

I know
that death is merely a part of life.
A fixed location, steadily awaiting
our eventual arrival across
the swirling fog and seafoam.

Maybe it is because I have never known
life without end, and I have seen so
many final chapters, slipping right out of my arms, fluttering, transcendant.

I would rather hold death,
the lives of those I hold dear,
than pretend there is order
without chaos.

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