Death: a fear

I pray to God every day To “delay my death,” as one might say. Why is it so terrifying to leave? Why is it so agonizing to leave? Is it that I fear death That makes existence a gift to me, Or is it that existence, to me, is a precious gift That makes me fear death? Is it the thought of leaving behind this world, Or heading to another, that frightens me? Is it the fear of not having touched the sky yet, Or the fear of being left alone, six feet deep? Is it the yearning for answers to my unanswered questions That makes me want to stay, Or is it my fear of answering God’s questions —which I certainly want to delay? Maybe it is that I have lived That makes me want to live more, Or maybe it is that I haven’t lived enough To shuffle off this mortal coil.