R.I.P.
by Michael R. Burch

When I am lain to rest
and my soul is no longer intact,
but dissolving, like a sunset
diminishing to the west ...

and when at last
before His throne my past
is put to test
and the demons and the Beast

await to feast
on any morsel downward cast,
while the vapors of impermanence
cling, smelling of damask ...

then let me go, and do not weep
if I am left to sleep,
to sleep and never dream, or dream, perhaps,
only a little longer and more deep.

Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Chained Muse. This is an early poem from my “Romantic Period” that was probably written in my late teens. Keywords/Tags: death, eternity, eternal rest, sunset, west, demons, beast, judgment, sleep, dream, nightfall, night, throne, vapor, vapors, impermanence

Your loving hands dried up my tears,
          And water droplets no longer blur my vision.

Your caring hands removed my blindfold,
                     And I can see you now as clear as day.

Your powerful grace transformed my frozen heart,
                               And it now beats to the rhythm of your love.

Ever since I stopped running,
          Ever since I stopped and accepted my mistakes,

I have been able to forgive myself,
                                  Love myself,
                                  And just be
                                                      Me
       ­                                                Authentically.
       I was so lost,
                 But I’ve been found.

I’m holding onto you
                                      With both hands
                                                           ­        And a tight grip
I will never
                     Let
                          You
                               ­ Go

Because if I lose you, then I will lose myself.

I love you King Jesus. Forever and Always.

in whispered words
you sing along with
the song of my heart

unconcerned with tune
or harmony
a simple chorus
in unison

the reverb swells
as the presence
multiplies
you and i and love;
with Spirit
adding contrabass
more felt than heard

Of dust both stars and we are born and so to all will each return.
But in between, dust gives a heart a need for loves' enduring yearn.
In times' course on cosmic scale all particles are drawn to another one.
And so stars and love set adrift, until once more, all but dust is gone.