You Ask Me of Death

You ask of me the feeling of death.
How dare I answer,
And dare I speak!

Die now and know nothing.
However, as long as you live,
You will be dying.

I can only tell you of the pain,
But death comes not for you yet.
Know, one day, he will.

You ask of me the feeling of death, and I cannot say.
I can ask of you to remember the emptiness of loss,
Then imagine being the loss rather than feeling it.

This, my child, is death.
Not for one so pure,
Not for one of filth,
But for the unlively.