Little Deaths

The wise man told me,
That every day,
Is full of little deaths;
Dying wishes.
Dying breaths.

That if in each tiny,
Microcosmic dying,
We meet our maker,
Within the sighing,

Then we can start
Our dying well,
That in the end
Our life will tell,

That the sting has met its salve
That fear shall no longer imprison
Our hearts resolve,

In the letting go,
We go home,
In the lifeless husk
A seed is sown,

In dying a little,
Every dying day,
In losing all,
We find our way,

When life is full
Of dying well,
Then heaven holds
No fear of hell,

So give me this day,
My daily death
Give me my bread
As you give me breath
Give me my life
As you give me my cross
To live and die for you
And not count the loss