Cover Photo of The Ultimate Wonder by Skywalker Storyteller
Cover Photo of The Ultimate Wonder by Skywalker Storyteller

Death is a haunting and rarely discussed topic. To man, it is the end of a phase or life here on Earth. But is this really so? Have we taken a moment to pause and reflect on death, the way we want to embrace this inescapable moment? In her book, “The Ultimate Wonder—World Stories Illuminating Death,” Skywalker has taken the giant step to write about this end she aptly calls The Ultimate Wonder.

Served with a preliminary introduction where she, in a concise manner, tells of her view about death from both personal and religious perspectives, one can’t help but read further and keenly too. Segmented into various parts, the short stories within take place in various parts of the world and at various times. I found some of these stories so moving, they stayed with me for days. A few examples are “Kenelinda” and “A Mother’s heart.”

Until I read Skywalker’s book, I’ve not come across an anthology (of poems and short stories) where death, the central theme, is presented in a rather soothing and enlightening manner. Skywalker’s compilation is a book you can relax to, or even share with family members and friends. Each story is a fountain of gentle words and metaphors meant not only to entertain and inform, but also to prepare man without pain or fear for this end. This ultimate wonder.


For more details on this brilliantly written book, you can visit Skywalker’s site:




Bronze Figurative Sculpture of Man in Struggle
Bronze Figurative Sculpture of Man in Struggle

Look at me:
I’m half man,
half a heart,
the other part
is reeling
on the floor with laughter
while I try to give reason
to what’s left of me to fight.

This pain;
it’s one of the many stings that returns…
Legion that pries me open and rapes my senses
and burns me in agonizing bits

I’m praying,
I’m bleeding
I’m pouring ruby-red regret
on this dying self
I’m screaming, hoarse and untamed,
till they reach the heights above–or if they will

Can You hear me?
Or do You now count me
among the lost and forgotten…
banished to walk
this metal hell of a road?

My God
My tourniquet
let me drink from your salvation’s pool,
to cast upon your white doors
the reflection of a battered soul
In need of the grave,
I dare to close
these misted eyes