' Dead Silence...

Walking out the front door of a house she called ''Space'' she found a comfortable bench, in a bog by a pond with tall chained swings and sweeping slides, filled with children laughing; and, there she sat down to rest, muse, ensconce in what memories she had of her life that she once knew, images, reflections that elicit- tears of sad happiness. And with both legs stretched out, her arms criss-cross folded, her eyes lifted skyward, seeking out the gray billows of clouds she could image as ethereal silhouettes of the many who had left her years and years ago; as a child, as a wife, as a woman and best friend, yet, the images were faded like grey dusted book shelves, from an old barren warehouse, long closed for many years, as its worth passed on, long ago. and so as she sat all alone, in her own imposed silence. She had learned in her later years that the oneliness she once enjoyed had taken a woeful turn by her own solipsistic ways, from shades of apprehension to a veil of reclusiveness, so as to shelter her final day's from the wounds, nails and glass that we all must walk across upon living out mortality, as we know it, and cannot change it. And she took all this inside and pondered her jaded life, measuring out her worth from her cloistered drawn past to her silent present; yet, with the same skewed yard-stick she'd been measuring with for years. In the morning, so they found her, head slumped, and feet raised; hanging by its chain from the shortest of the swings. Depression, all too often, the most silent sudden death, because the sufferers rarely speak about the reasons why they feel insignificant and desperate to end the pain in such this way; all alone, in dead silence. She had lived her life as she pleased, and left it behind the same. Death after Life, inevitable, But does it lead to Life after Death when Death is taken from God's hands into ours?