Sunday, April 13, 2014

Dying with Him

author's note:

This poem seems to fit with the Easter season.


I did not pray for the man:

how could I know
what was best for him?

Instead, I suffered with him, quietly.

Though I stood a thousand miles away
as I watched his eyelids quiver...

we breathed as one.

I forgot time

until in a startle
my heart clunked clumsily

then all came toppling down
with one collapsing heave...

but from his sudden ashes
I felt an exhalation of mist
quickly dissolving upwards--
I then sensed
an intensity to the room--
a subtle sparkle soon gone.

I nearly laughed:

what had been
so crushingly hard
became in an instant
ridiculously easy.

So the old book is true:
we are indeed resurrected...

I suffered with him
until we both suffered
no more.

© 2014, Michael R. Patton
new steps

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