The dreadful finality of the final full stop.
Nothingness beyond, only an endless
White space and the end of meaning.
An infant left fatherless, a wife bereft of a companion,
A mother having to kiss her dead child ‘God be by ye!’

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Multiple complications, multiple surgeries.
Why such a cruel fate?
To what heavenly or earthly purpose?
Tossed between hope and hopelessness,
A quick passing seems a blessing.

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The ones in pain are the ones who'd loved.
A heavy hollowness in the centre of one's being
Like a bottomless pit that cannot be filled
With memories, photographs, used items,
Anniversaries or memorial rituals.

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What except the acceptance
Of the inevitability of death, living,
Holding on to a blind belief in an unknown,
Unproved possibility of existence of some sphere of meaning
Beyond the final full stop?