Death

I often wonder if death is always so mysterious. It comes in so many ways, so many forms, that imagining it to happen is rather impossible for a young and inexperienced mind like mine. To see it then, in a humanoid form as millions of people over the millennia have imagined, is hard too. People fancy death as a haggard, veiled figure; black and incomprehensible, with a scythe in it's long bony arms. They dread it. But that is too dreamy for my taste. Death is nothing but a process for some, and instant death, although not a process, is surely an end to all worries, joys and lives. Death is grievous too most, but for some it acts as a relief, a full stop for long-endured pain and suffering. There the question arises, as to whether death is good or bad. In my opinion, it is neither, because it doesn't distinguish between the rich and the poor, healthy or ailing, old or young. That's the beauty of death, so solemn, haunting, wise and yet absolutely necessary.