Poem: Arms

His arms are the ones I want to die in.
They are my haven, my respite, my place of solitude.
Whenever the feelings of ruin strike me,
they are my bandages.
Whenever the feeling of joy abounds,
they are where I celebrate.

Most see only arms.
They're where I find
Everything.

They’re my church
the place I worship
the place I give thanks
the place I atone.
And in the end, the place I mourn.

They’re my world
the place I find comfort
the place I find love
the place I find warmth.
And in the end, the place of eternity.

His arms are the ones I want to die in.
Peace is brought by these words.
So simply stated, yet so hopeful
Death is no longer feared, so neither is life.