Sometimes prose just doesn’t suffice. Sometimes you need poetry to wrap your head around the world. Last weekend something happened that required poetry badly. Here’s a poem for a poet.
And the son sat in the mother’s lap
‘I am so tired’ he said
‘I can’t go on.’
The mother whispered in his ear,
‘And it’s alright.’
‘But will they understand?’
He asked, in tears.
‘They won’t, not now.
There will be those who will call you selfish.
There will be those who will call you godless,
Whatever that may mean.
There will be those who will envy your strength.
There will be those who will miss you beyond expression.
One day they will understand.
One day peace will also be
Their only possible destination.
You, my son, have done enough.
You have shone your light on all of us.
You looked upon all of creation lovingly,
Until you could no longer,
Until your eyes grew lifeless and dull.
You gave it your all
And now it’s time for you to rest in my bosom.’
The son spread his arms around the mother.
In that instant he could finally feel the love
That had gotten lost in all the noise.
He lay down his tired head,
closed his eyes
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