I’d rather it had been a whimper than a bang €”
The way the year went out €”
In dim-lit winter, while the choirs sang;
I’d trade those screams for joyful Christmas shouts.
I’d mar those deaths with lowdown, high-rise, hallowed Birth,
Were I the wondrous Way,
Cast out the grieving from the hall of mirth;
I’d give that love-lit night for darkened day.
I’d spare no cherub angel, nor her flaming sword
To guard that Eden’s gate €”
Would perish one, were I the two-edged Word;
I’d pinch and pluck the sickly cells of hate.
But I am not I AM. And we’ve been here before:
Clean blood has darkened soil
For all of earth’s trite time, and grief and gore
Alike are her familiars, are Salvation’s foil.
As it always does, a haggard, flagging wisdom
Occasions comfort rare:
Our view is short, His long; He takes them home;
All that would be undone were He to interfere,
And He will not; but He’s not silent €”Heaven weeps
For sinners and for saints
Alike; for all, alike, were heavenly once, and His,
Bought for pearly price, deposited for taints,
And mantle-made. Perhaps such comfort’s cold right now.
But then, it’s winter there.
The leaves lie bitter brown. A shroud of snow
Might clothe the vacant, precious dead, and clear the screaming air.
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For Jonathon’s bio and more poetry, go here.
Photo by Calum McRoberts by way of Wikimedia Commons Images.
Wilderness Interface Zone 