What about death?

I have always wondered:
How will I die?
Getting stabbed, shot,
hit-and-run, poisoned
Or falling, probably,
from the thirteenth floor,
Or, God forbid, slipping
(on a banana peel).

Dying is certain,
I know, but still,
an enigma in itself
sends chills down my spine.
It’s our finish line.
What happens after?

 Envelope of darkness,
blanket of cold?
Or the pearly gates,
St. Peter a-waiting?
We cross the bridge
when we get there.

 But, say, given a sign
“Death in a month’s time”
What do we ought to do?
What we can do: live.
Dying celebrates life,
seemingly reminds people:
living is a journey.

 Live life to the fullest:
Listen to music, taste every flavor
dance, sing, or kiss everyone’s lips
For when death comes a-knocking,
nothing can ever be
certain as dying.

#

This is a slightly edited version of a free-verse I submitted last year as a requirement in a philosophy class.