Fear

Death is, they tell me, part of human life
A destination we cannot avoid
The best that we can do is quiet strife
And keep an even keel before the void.
Some say we linger on beyond our death
In something like a paradise or hell;
I fear their claims are merely wasted breath
For 'til we go ourselves, we cannot tell.
Each day could be my last, though I must doubt
That this one is particularly so
As yet I've given neither up nor out
But maybe that's the way that I will go
Merely exhausted from an endless day:
And who would really want another way?