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Apprentice at Grief
I stoop to grief when reasons fail
And tell him that tomorrow
We must begin to sort out our delirium.
“Hopes get lean and die,” I say,
“So, we must nourish them with tears.”
Pry the locked jaws open
Jerk them back to sound and speech.
Let this mouth, shut so long ago,
Spit out sorrow and silence – shout!”
I swallow a live curse with love
Words slip out and slash my lips.
“Hey, buddy, you haven’t shrunk enough,” I say,
“You haven’t taken to the sewers yet.”
That scheming skull and the lust for might you sustain
Will eat your heart out endanger all your gain.
I smell no stink of spoiled sin on you, my friend,
As it befits connoisseurs of sorrow, no yearning to atone.
I have no tears left to comfort you with, old boy, no thrills.
Laughs have lost their lease and Me’s and Mine’s pay no bills.
Only this wrinkled skin is left to guard our guts from stray cats.
Yet, we cannot afford to live or die in permanent defeat.
We have to stay in the battle and lose again and more and over.
Listen! We have to bundle this wayward heart, my friend,
And count on Grace for our chances of redemption, as He said.
The Light of Life is always near, that much is clear, to the end.

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