True account, unfortunately, over a year ago.
Though I Sit
…thought I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be my light.
To talk the talk and walk the walk
Goes deeper than belief—
For life is brittle as a stalk
In nature’s grim motif.
My friend’s dear son, found on a track,
Was dead as dead could be.
He took his life? Died from attack?
His heart just stopped, set free?
My faith tells me, hang on belief
In Him with concrete trust…
But mine is like a withered leaf
That joggers’ grind to dust.
What can be said to lull his soul?
Should I offer a hymn?
What could fill up his lifelong hole,
And empty space so grim?
The Master groaned, began to weep,
Told them to move the stone.
Out of the darkness dank and bleak,
Death fell far from its throne:
“Come forth.” A son left death’s regime.
My friend’s son’s life was brief,
Who now haunts in memory’s stream
Filled up with tears of grief.
The hands of God soothe down relief
Eons ago, today:
Though Death gloats like a slinking thief,
His son shall dance one day.