Not A Rhetorical Problem

How can we possibly hear

the quiet and still voice of God

and understand the promise of eternity

amidst the shrill cacophony of death?


My senses are tumbled and my mind reels

at the constant, steady drip drip drip

of the loves I have lost lost lost.


While the hope of eternal reunion is an image

seen darkly at best through a clouded glass,

I see clearly the path and trajectory of this life,

slipping away, and all I hold dear dying before my eyes.


Prayer binds the wounds and soothes the pain

for a time, but then the misery of death marches on.


I’m a child with little true understanding

and I cannot pretend to understand,

nor can I play games to distract me

from what I see or from what I feel;

snacks and funny movies don’t help me forget.


What recourse do I have here

if I am honest with myself?

Just time, and the passage of time?


There may very well be a future hope

and a life eternal, I do believe it.

But flesh and emotion are howling now.

Perseverance and patience

through the suffering, I can feel it.


Within the ashes of my loss

there remains an ember of love

a small heat with potential to reignite.


I need God’s breath to blow across me again

to bring resurrection and renewed conflagration,

to bring a fire of love that enkindles my limbs,

and enlightens my life while I live.



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