When I die, let death come without pain. Let flowers and birds weep and sing a sad lament. Let Heaven open and soak the earth with rain. But, please, let there be no pain. Just the gentle kiss of a loved one's lips on my cheek. The whisper of goodbye, the touch of a hand in mine. Let me feel one more embrace before I leave this earth. Let me hear the sound of my daughter's voice reassuring me that she'll be okay. Let me breathe my last breath in the presence of loved ones. Let my soul soar back to You and return to the source where all life begins. Let me become the rain that soaks the flowers. Let me become the sunlight that drenches the earth. Let me become the sound of waves crashing on shore, the taste of saltwater on someone's lips. Let me become the sound of laughter so people will remember me after I'm gone.
Bruce Black is the author of Writing Yoga (Rodmell Press/Shambhala) and editorial director of The Jewish Writing Project. He received his BA from Columbia University and his MFA from Vermont College. His work has appeared in Elephant Journal, Blue Lyra Review, Tiferet Journal, Hevria, Poetica, Reform Judaism, The Jewish Literary Journal, Mindbodygreen, Yogi Times, Chicken Soup for the Soul, and elsewhere. He lives in Sarasota, FL.