Too many people die
Young, painful, lonely, hopeless.
They are the truths, survived by liars,
Living remnants afraid of their end time.
(Flourishes are added to death notices
With the judgment of a blind painter)
Went to be with Jesus,
Lost his brave struggle,
Taken by the angels,
Was called by the Lord,
These phrases might as well be from an opium dream,
Rather than accepted, expected, repeated until believed true,
Death takes the Field General with no more honor than the stray cat,
The murderer the same as the mistreated horse.
Glory lies in the life that was known, the spirit experienced,
Not a hoped for story ending of the Brothers Grimm.
Burn me in a ship like the Vikings of elder days, and spare me the
Details of my arrival in Valhalla that are unknown on this plane.
Grief leads us to want to see the best, hope the best-even have a picture
In the paper beside the noble, eulogized person now serving as an ether bag.
A lost baby, missed more badly than words were created to express,
Remembered with a horrid picture of the very child squalling its eyes out...
The center does not hold.