The bed hasn't been made in days.
The pillows forever bearing the shape of what once was.
The entity of greatness struggling to remain.
Breath slow, the body unwilling. 
The mind remains and the ears listen.
As the fairwells said the singular tear breaks free slowly falling down the cheek.
The chest makes it's last rise signifying the end.
 In one moment in time as the life of one man ends everything he as ever done and everything he could have done meets.
Every memory comes flooding through the mind.
Death is only the beginning.
Nothing will prepare you, but if your mind is willing and your soul longing you can see the soul transcend from this plain to the next. 
Truly a beautiful thing to see heaven, and a curse as well. 
At peace at last I long for us to meet again. One day my friend, one day.

By Matthew branton