We grieve for death as if we won't all die one day,
As if death is a cruel visitor, unannounced and uninvited
As if someone stole something that we thought we were holding on to
Too tightly to be torn from our grasp.
We grieve for death like we have been slighted.
Like we have been tricked and deceived
Like we read the court transcript but life perjured itself.
Like we signed the contract
But there was fine print in invisible ink.
Like this wasn't supposed to happen.

They were supposed to be here.
They were supposed to be limitless,
I suppose, we supposed.

We grieve for death because we could not save them.
Because we could not fight back against the onslaught of time.
Because we could not change the span of decades into millennia,
Last seconds into slow hours.
Because we could not control
Even what we loved most.
Because we will die one day,
We grieve.

The infinite is impossible.
And we know that,
In our grief for death.
Until we forget,
For however long we have
Until we are reminded again,
Or until we serve only
To remind others in turn.

As the darkness entered her eyes;
they widened instinctively,
as a barren landscape in the migrant rain
or a guilty heart
reading a book about grace
She'd lost the spirit;
oh it was still there,
like the soil after a long drought;
but it wasn't good for plantin' yet
It had been a good life,
up to now;
now she straddled her youth
and what remained of it;
at least what remained of her pretty face
She was still pretty
They told her everyday
It seemed they wanted to move too fast
As if she was desperate
Desperate for a man
But she wasn’t
She was no tombstone waiting for a chisel
He was gonna’ have to his job
She was gonna’ make him do it
Even if she only had a week to live
He had to put in six days to get the seventh
And she’d wait for him;
she'd be resting on the porch,
just like God rested;
waiting to see if anyone deserved all of that

It's just a drawing
She says
It doesn't have to be perfect.
But of course it does.
Because it's of her.

She's not perfect.
Not even close.
Her hair doesn't quite lie flat
Cause some sticks out straight
The way a fish may leap from the lake
While the rest swim methodically below.
Her smile may be too small,
Like its still waiting for the right moment to grow.
Her eyes aren't pristine blue or deep green
But a natural, solemn brown.
And that's okay, because I like it that way.

She's not the best dancer,
In fact she's more like to step on toes
Than point them.
She's not very funny, even when she tries,
And she does.
She doesn't run fast or sing well or play chess.
She wouldn't charm you right away,
The way some people do.
And that's okay, because I like it that way.

She's not perfect,
And shouldn't be.
Which is why this drawing has to be.
Because if I get her hair,
Or her eyes,
Or her dance,
Or her charm
Wrong,
She might seem perfect.
And I wouldn't like it that way.