I am yet will not be

It is strange to breathe and know
my body shall fail,
to ponder the inevitable state of non-being
that will come.
One day, late or soon, the blood stops moving,
the hand that pens these lines
will lie unanimated, lifeless,
and the mind that crafts these words
will ponder no more.
I contemplate the arcane end of consciousness
with curiosity for the mystery is deep.
Will there be blackness?
Will there be light?
Will I descend into a pure forgetfulness of oblivion
detached from everyhing that I have come to know?
Truthfully, at times I fear the potential
nothingness of death,
the dread of darkness falling forever on my eyes.
But wonder again grasps me simply to know
that I am,
and I treasure even my sorrow in memory
of all the spirits that never existed at all.