“That’s how death is. We close the casket. We fold the flag. We make that last radio call. We weep, we breathe deep, and we walk away from the dead back to those who still live. And each step kills something inside us because Ben should still be here. Right here walking beside us.”
My spirit
Quiet in the cacophony
Of the birth, decay, and growth
Of being.
The song that perched within my soul
And sang from branches high
Has flown to trees on higher peaks
And left my heart behind.
“The worshipped has become
The pilgrim; straining, burning, dying,
For a chance to change
What is written in the stars.”
“Then a lone cricket starts playing his tune into the dark silence.
It makes me feel wonderfully small and inconsequential to mark time with a cricket…”
“The fingers of shadow lengthen
Along the quiet bend
Of the road that runs from East to West
Beside the grave of a friend.”
ShareThis poem was written just a few days after my firstborn son was […]