A Love Poem for Death

Though shadows and darkness
Stand between us.
Time and space
Distant wars.

Deep within
Always eternal
Our central sun
Beating proud.

Life is for the the living.
Death is for the dead.

Do we know each other still?
Or has that too washed away?

Mourning is for the mourner.
Loving is for the lover.
How soon does the Sun rise
On our eternal Heaven?

Together seems a long way away
When all was right with the world.
When all my relations
Were with me.

Sadness creeps in at the edges
Shadows casting demons through doubt.
Is our Love eternal?
As sure as the promise of Heaven.

Can we know in this mortal shell
Our true eternal nature?
Or is it forever clouded in grief?
Does torment really have a silver lining?

Where now is the promised reward
Of a life lived righteously?

Some say love is but a dream
Lived incompletely through moments.
Moments that are separated by eternal sadness
Or the torture of not knowing.

But is not the light within to guide us?
Is not God at our side?

If not, then surely Love must exist somewhere
Outside the hollow walls of our weary eyes.

We have waited long for the justice of a good tomorrow
One built on the bedrock of sacred being.
We have waited long for the Peace of Ages
Promised long ago by ancient men.

Is it long off still?
Must we still wait for our ship
While the storm brews
Our lives like dandelions blown randomly into the darkness.

Waiting forever is a painful processes
Perhaps it is because we have forgotten pleasure.
But somehow we remember the thought of it
So long ago when the world seemed right.

How now our meaningless rituals
Drawn out far too long
By those unwary and clumsy
Unaware of the approaching storm?

What manner of strength within
Gathered darkly with shades of black
Will we rest upon on the day of gathering?
Will we gather the grapes of gladness or of sorrow?

What manner of harvest is the bounty of eternal toil?
Or is such a question not worth asking?
Yet Love toils not, though it is buried
Underneath the paperwork of excessive thinking.

Ten thousand bureaucrats would erase
The work of a billion true hearts
So that the decendants of Heaven
Would only know a legion of read rules.

Red rules for the good, black rules for the bad.
And yet still this beating heart says
Love matters beyond and above
When this heart stops.

And yet the dark mind of man cannot know
Whether this heart continues to beat in Heaven.
Woe onto the ignorance of our times.
Woe onto the darkness of our lies.

Where is the healer for those that need healing?
Where is the lover for those that need loving?
Where is the savior for those that need saving?
Where is the breather for those that need breathing?

Where is the hero in this dark hour to bring us our hope?
Where is the mirror to show us ourselves?
Where is the echo to let us hear our thoughts?
Where is the river to bring us back our dreams?

Did our dreams just drift away
On the mist of shadows
Never to be heard from ever again?
Or will they return from beyond the grave?

How now do we know a second chance?
Or are second chances no longer in vogue?
When did we give up on second chances?
When did we surrender God's right to offer one?

Or perhaps man is God now.
Man, the dark God, bringer of evil, a shadow onto himself.
Where will this man go to find peace?
Where will this man go to become human?

And yet Love still seems real
And yet somehow far away and close at the same time.
Love is a mystery it seems
A thousand painful deaths cover it up.

Many swear by Love, the miracle.
But then what is Love without miracles?
It seems that Hope in this dark age is a miracle enough.
Where it springs from is beyond the understanding of man.

And yet Death creeps closer every day.
It's visage everywhere and on everything.
What is it that Death wants?
Is it a greedy beast or simply doing it's job?

After thinking, does Love arrive?
After doubting, does She show her face?
Is it Love that will save us, or nothing at all?
Is this race of man beyond saving?

If it is beyond saving, will we find some grace?
Does God still believe in second chances?
Or has she changed her mind
Because we are such monsters now.

Have be become monsters in the name of Love?
Are we the beasts that we have been looking for?
Are we the demons in the dark?
Are we the evil doers hiding in the shadows?

Will the shame of our faces drive us to death?
Will this heart bear the burden of all its lies?
Will it bear the burden of all the lies told besides
By an army of seemingly well meaning well wishers?

Responsibility weighs darkly on this heart.
Judgment weighs darker still.
The weight of the world is on these shoulders.
Fate weighs and is weighed in turn.

The fate of all is decided in small moments
Yet the burden of infinite fate
Cannot be laid upon the heart and soul
Of any being under the Heavens.

Thus we are left to save ourselves
And wonder if God will be there
When our turn comes to discover
What it is Death has covered up.

Time is always against us.
And Love is always with us.
Why is Love not enough?
Why is there always something more to demand?

Are we the greedy monsters?
Or are we just children who were never taught
The way to the heart and the soul?
Is our fate to judge the world?

Or do we judge God and ourselves?
Are we inadequate to our task?
How can we be when none was assigned to us?
How can we be when no one told us what to do?

Is it fair to question all of what we are?
Is it good to question all of what we have become?
Will we find a second chance buried underneath the unknown?
Or will we find our well planned execution instead?

If man is truly the master of his fate.
Then surely he has a choice in his life.
But we all know Death chooses for us in the end.
If Death is God's left hand woman, then where does that leave us?

Is there any difference between a Christian and a Jew?
Between a Athiest and a Theologian?
Between a black man and a white one?
Between a man or a woman?

Do we not face the same ultimate truth.
The ever approaching night that is Death.
It is our constant companion.
The one truth that our darkness can agree to.

Is it any wonder, with our constant companion
That we have forgotten everything of what is good?
That we have forgotten everything of what is happy?
That we have forgotten everything of what is beautiful?

This heart beats, but I don't know why.
Does it beat for me or does it beat for my lover?
Does it beat for God?
Let us hope it does not beat for the devil.

But if it does beat for the devil
It would be nice if he let it beat a little bit longer in any case.

Will we all be reunited after Death has opened the door
To eternal light or eternal dark?
Will I see the face of my lover, my sister, my brother, my mother, my father?
Will I know my friend after I am gone?

Is it cruel to imagine that I might forget?
Is it painful to think I might not remember?
Or have I become a shadow of myself
Stalking my own fears into madness?

Does God make people mad
Or should we blame the madman for his own confusion?
Or should society blame itself?
Would Love have helped, and could it still help?

Does society even know how to Love?
There are a million cures now.
There are a billion ways to diagnose a billion labels.
Yet isn't it Love that cures, or is that just the talk of a madman?

Perhaps what this world needs is another billion bureaucrats
Or perhaps a million fresh talking heads gossiping and poisoning.

Perhaps it needs to print more money and throw it at everyone
Maybe what this world needs is another hundred thousand politicians pretending to care.

Or maybe this world needs you to care.
Maybe it needs you to Love.
Maybe it needs you to heal.
Maybe it needs you to feel.

I would wager that if you wake up tomorrow
That it will be true
That the world with be better
Only with you.

And whatever lies beyond Death's door.
Whether shadow or substance or an unknown bore.
If you truly Love and give all you can.
Life will have measure, meaning, and fans.

And when we face the great unknown.
We hope we do with someone true.
We go alone to find our sense
Of what Death is without pretense.

Unbiased towards Death, I say to you.
I know not what it is.
I know not what it could be.
I know not what it will be.

All I can say to anyone now
Is that we should all Hope.
And that if we Hope together
I believe that Death will just go away.

Faith is odd in that Love makes sense of it.
Where the mind cannot.
And the thoughts don't do it justice.
But it all makes sense anyway.

And that is ok.

And since it is ok, it must be enough.

And if it is enough, then it is worth it.