“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”
- 1 Corinthians 15:55
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O Lord, sanctify this:
today,
as huddled mourners wept themselves dry
--a grove of blackened birch that grows
around a solemn shadow, a vine upon bone--
as pressed toes crumbled through mausoleum floor
--a great Kingdom that has gone mute
for the buzzing of bees, mindless murmur of wind--
as overcast eyes stabbed blindly
--the billowing stone masts in an ocean of grass
betrayed no signs of the carnage--
in accordance with the Scriptures
life delivered the fatal blow
and death--
death was alive
and throbbed within me.
some moby **** and the memories from today morning's visit to the cemetery
