For All the Faithful Departed

(With honor and debt to Heinlein)

Winter night whispers,
Desiccation,
Atrophy,
Amid the crosstalk,
Accompany the cross I bear,
Willingly,
Without complaint, reservation or treasonous self-doubt,
Straight on to the hilltop,
Summit,
The last place I’ll ever be,
And there will wait until sunrise,
Until that daily springtime,
Until a circadian rebirth,
Squirms its way into being,
Onto the newly warmed asphalt,
Wet by the street-cleaner’s spray…

Any words not said,
Tears not shed,
Vows untaken,
Consecration left undone,
All are empty consolation for us,
The living,
And do little,
If anything,
For all the faithful departed.

End. Rev5 16 May 2010, 5.38 p.m. Brooklyn

© David Mark Speer