GO GENTLE






my father is dying
I stop at the airport church
prepared to pray






despite my unbelief
raise my hands and eyes
to a cloudy  Heaven





but Heaven is not
prepared to hear
this prodigal son




I hold his hand
as lies dying
this good man






he the only religion
I could believe in
I pray to him





"Go gentle...." I tell him
stroke his dear face
". . .leave this suffering behind."