At a window that looked to the edge of the sea,
within the home that sheltered her,
she perhaps saw me when I was callous
and need not care for her or the land or the sea.
Now I think I will soon join her
and perhaps then have time to speak to her
of the good earth and cleansing sea
and explain what she has finally come to mean to me.
Yet if there was a god I would need not explain.
If there was a god, protection of her would have sprung
for in goodness she was supreme.
Tell me why was her love for her god not rewarded?
Why was she left to suffer? Leave me.
Let me rage, fill the air curse to curse
for what of this god, this god whose back was turned
what do I owe him save my fury in equal measure to her love.
Look there. Her grave. Pitiful thing.
Who would know that the best of our lot lies below.
Build here a monument colossal in scope and size,
raise it to goodness, patience and forgiving love.
Hold. It does no good. Be deaf to a fool.
Surely I knew by having her her god was also there.
Then I cease here for my curse echoes to her.
Ah, but it is not fair — I live, she does not.
© 2016