I think upon the death of this dear soul,
Who gave the sweetest tribute unto breath,
No greater notes of sadness ever piped,
Nor left a greater ounce of pure regret.
The precious voice now silenced to the past,
Has argued my faith into the ground,
Not all the preaching since mankind was birthed,
Can make death have a lesser sound.
My memory now is interlaced with grief,
Sprinkling over all my thoughts with pain,
Death releasing there its deepest grin,
To relish in my loss and weigh it’s gain.
Hopes shimmer, its cause and its course,
Is placed in a future yet unseen,
It slightly dulls the world’s harshest days,
Thinking that our times can be redeemed.
To wrestle with my anger makes no sense,
I give to blame no room it can reign,
Stripped to the barest for this present sting,
Forced to take communion with the pain.
Life’s meaning that we all are searching for,
Is found when sickness comes to bind,
Its truth will shine bright into your heart,
Life’s meaning is healthy days and time,
When death raises up its ugly head,
When disease holds you firm in its grasp,
Life’s meaning then becomes crystal clear,
When all the good that’s left is in the past.
Read more articles by William Mae or search for articles on the same topic or others.