The Odor of Sanctity
The reason the dead smell so quickly and bad
Is to make us let go of any idol we had;
Thinking to possess the beloved as “mine!”
Is like trying to grasp a bright ray of sunshine.
She’s ours to love for a year and a day;
Then Nature or God takes her essence away.
We’re left with our tears, good memories and such,
But no more long walks, joyous greetings, sweet touch.
Loss is intolerable, not to be borne,
Nothing seems left but her ashes come morn,
Nothing seems left but a large silent sign:
Permanence is found in God’s only design.
I love rhyme and I love rhythm; well done they can reflect the inherent order of the real creator. I have been reading a poet whose verse is perfection, Jennifer Reeser, though I do not pretend to comprehend her poems substances and complexities. I’d like to be able to write well, but most of what I write comes out goofy, unfortunately. Well, I do my best and don’t charge much for anyone to read it—just a little time. Actually, I like the last two verses [not real poems]; there may even be a real insight hidden in plain sight. I lack subtlety. Though check out “come morn!” Okay. I am still crying for Frollie. I tried to read the thing to a good friend who stops by every day and only made it halfway through before breaking down.
Frollie: died March 16, 2021. She was much beloved.