Come Now, Death's Shadow

The experiences this poem discusses happened years ago. I wrote it awhile back as more of a reflection on them than anything else.


From dust we came
to dust we must return
some of us covered in blood and small—
a life that barely lived
a heart that barely beat, though fast,
beneath frail ribs and paper skin,
while blind eyes and downy brows
mark the image of God
being knit.

Hear me, Lord!
Hear my whisper, hear the flutter
of silent movements
stopped within my frame—
my fallen frame, too weak to hold
the life You chose to take.
The garden’s curse
exacts its toll again.
Bitter, familiar sin!
I feel its sting now,
deep within my body,
piercing to my heart.

My love
cannot dry up,
like my blighted child.
It flows in rivers down my face.
It carves its place
in the landscape of my life—

But that deep pool, clear
and only sweetened by salt-tears
shall water the seed of Your Word
within me.
Your will, Your mysteries, Your plans
for me and mine—
for that soul whose properties You know—
Your Providence and choice,
and mercy seen through mortal pain—
these lessons I will learn,
take from Your hand the grief,
call You blessed,
and remember

This child, too, belonged to You.