I sometimes wish that things were different,
and I could lose this strange and awful curse;
believing good things must be heaven sent,
and bad ones sourced from somewhere so much worse.
That streets of gold await us when we die
(unless we have been bad and go below);
but I can't picture mansions in the sky,
nor why a loving god would wish us woe.
I just can't see my way to thinking that
the state of things we call reality
is based at all on where my mind is at,
or moulded by what I would wish to be.
A rainbow bridge? I just can't picture it;
no span you'll cross so we can reunite,
nor frolicking in fields forever lit
by sunlight, where all evils are set right.
I'd gladly wish far more than this for you,
my close companion, and my faithful friend;
but is it noble if it isn't true?
I must accept your life is at an end.
I'll take my comfort in the fact I know
you lived a long and happy life with me;
my love for you was always out on show,
from pain and suffering you now are free.
To honour you, and friendship so sublime,
I'll set reason aside for just one day;
and wish, as close I hold you one last time,
your vesp'ring spirit safely on its way.
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Author Notes
This is not prompted by any recent occurrence, but when there are 28 living beings you call "immediate family", and who share your home, death is never far away. It occurs relatively frequently here, and yet it never hurts any less. For some reason, today's word brought the above thoughts to mind.
Today's word: vespering (adj.) flying west, towards the sunset.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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