Saturday, September 22, 2012

Poetry: Grandma's Burial

So a number of things have occurred that have caused me to think about my Grandmother's passing.  She died several years ago, but, as Autumn begins, this poem seems appropriate right now.  It feels odd to say, "I hope you enjoy it," so perhaps instead I'll just say, "Maybe something in it will resonate with you, and maybe that resonance is a good thing."

Grandma’s Burial

And on the night before we buried you
A winter storm came through, and it adorned
The trees with beads of scintillating glass.
Beneath those boughs we passed; such did we mourn
That sunlight glittered both in ice and tears,
As love built up for years streaked down our face
To mingle with a prayer card’s fading ink.
Not one of us could think, and at that place
Where in the earth there rest so many hearts,
Where the life-after starts, forgotten love
Becomes obscured by grass and graveside weed;
Caretakers intercede, and stand above
The ground in which you are now to be laid.
Will mem’ry of you fade?  Will it be rent?
The graven stone your lifespan here proclaims,
And with yours other names do ornament
The surface of that sheer and frozen rock.
Death seems to be a lock we cannot pick
Upon a door slammed shut before our eyes.
Thus should we all despise the world’s last trick,
Or shall we place our faith in heaven’s God?
It does seem somewhat odd.  He loves, they say,
Each one of us who dies and suffers so.
Why do we undergo this painful way
If love is what our God has made us for?
We suffer more and more when one we love
Departs this world for Your eternity.
And yet, oh, could it be that in Your Love
Those loves we thought we lost forevermore
Do somehow yet endure?  A hope so sweet
Cannot be known for sure while we draw breath;
Truth may be known when death we someday meet.

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