I do not believe in a life after death in any resurrection sense, but neither do I believe that death is an end in any final sense. When we die, we leave something of ourselves behind in family, friends, even some casual acquaintances on whom we may unknowingly made an impression by something we may have said or done (or not, as the case may be). They, in turn are shaped, maybe only slightly but invariably significantly by such moments in time. In this way, a part of us lives on in them just as a part of them lives on in us.
Whatever our socio-cultural-religious mindset, we can but move on after the deaths of loved ones comprising family and friends just as we will live on in them when the time comes for us to leave this world, yet there is no leaving anyone behind; such is the continuum of life.
A PASSING BELL
A bell, it tolls, a single cry in the night,
summoning all my senses to reply
as if to some lonely body taking fright
at having to contemplate it may die
The cry, it painted me a dream one night,
of a graveyard lit by a weepy moon
where someone knelt in a pool of light
as anonymous as some faceless stone
A ghostly figure, it looked up at the stars,
following a trail past even the moon,
where the bell carried news of us to Mars,
old God of War, Reaper come too soon
The cry, it was but your heart calling me,
the ghost, a living metaphor for love,
assuming your fair form if, oh, so briefly,
urging me to let go, move on, and live
So it was, a dream bell, chiming we two
(as one) across all time and space,
berating the how, why, where (and who)
denying gay lovers a deserving peace
The ghost, from death, it steered me clear,
with its life-force I gladly entwined;
waking, I chose life, in time loved another,
for moving on, leaving no one behind
Copyright R N. Taber 2016
Whatever our socio-cultural-religious mindset, we can but move on after the deaths of loved ones comprising family and friends just as we will live on in them when the time comes for us to leave this world, yet there is no leaving anyone behind; such is the continuum of life.
A PASSING BELL
A bell, it tolls, a single cry in the night,
summoning all my senses to reply
as if to some lonely body taking fright
at having to contemplate it may die
The cry, it painted me a dream one night,
of a graveyard lit by a weepy moon
where someone knelt in a pool of light
as anonymous as some faceless stone
A ghostly figure, it looked up at the stars,
following a trail past even the moon,
where the bell carried news of us to Mars,
old God of War, Reaper come too soon
The cry, it was but your heart calling me,
the ghost, a living metaphor for love,
assuming your fair form if, oh, so briefly,
urging me to let go, move on, and live
So it was, a dream bell, chiming we two
(as one) across all time and space,
berating the how, why, where (and who)
denying gay lovers a deserving peace
The ghost, from death, it steered me clear,
with its life-force I gladly entwined;
waking, I chose life, in time loved another,
for moving on, leaving no one behind
Copyright R N. Taber 2016
No comments:
Post a Comment