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When man breathes final,

air pushing out in last carbon burst,

is it possible his soul ascends?

Pushing out of one painfully human abode

into another eternal home,

less war-wracked and more

peace-filled;

home, as it should’ve been,

since the beginning.

 

Is it possible

as his bones lay resting,

he is glad

to no longer be

anchored to this fretful road,

free from life’s many weights,

obligations, and strains?

 

Perhaps he dances in this eternal place,

grateful to become the self he always

hoped to be.

 

Perhaps in this state he experiences

God as He really is,

without the cumbersome lens

of personal view or stereotype.

 

Perhaps it is possible,

as we look down upon the old skin

of a beloved man,

he looks down upon us,

happier and more present

than he had ever been

while breathing.

 

In Loving Memory of Bobby Skipwith


Rachel Hall is a playwright, poet, and aspiring children’s book author. She loves fun words and long pauses and days when it rains. She lives in California with her husband and their garden. You can follow her on Instagram @rachelhallpoetry, where you will find many poems about life and the occasional photo of her coffee.