Penny for a Poem

Final Frontier

I wonder, as the curtain starts to fall, how does it feel when life gives its last call?
Is dying warm, like embers softly glowing, or cold as winter's icy fingers showing?
Perhaps it's like a flame that flickers bright, a rush of warmth before eternal night.
The body's final surge, a heated race, as life burns quickly in its last embrace.
Or is it cold, a creeping chill that steals through veins and bones, the freeze that slowly seals?
A gradual numbing as the world recedes, the icy touch as consciousness concedes.
Maybe it's neither, but a gentle fade, a soft dissolving of the life we've made.
Not hot nor cold, but neutral in its feel, as senses dim and borders start to peal.
Could it be like the ocean's ebb and flow?
Warm shallows first, then cool depths down below.
A fluctuation as we slip away, the tide of being called to yesterday.
Or is it unique, for each soul that goes?
A person's life reflected as it slows.
The passionate burn fierce til the last breath, the stoic calm in their approach to death.
I ponder on this threshold none return, this final feeling we can never learn.
Until that moment when our time is here, we'll never know how it truly feels to die.
Yet still we wonder, as all mortals must, about that change from breath to cosmic dust.
Warm like a flame, or cold as ice so clear?
The answer waits beyond our final frontier.