How like a wound is an open grave
Cut sharp into the wet green earth
Gaping as it waits to swallow the casket
That hovers above reflecting
The comfortless morning sunlight.
The bereaved flock to the graveside
Like a murmuration of starlings,
Listening to the incantation of the shaman
In the desperate hope there is a soul to be saved.
Trying to understand the ineffable fragility of life,
Trying to accept that the departed have gone,
Trying to believe they ever were.
Staring in uncomprehending desolation
At the dark oblivion that waits
At the shadowy bottom of that fresh wound in the earth.
–Stephen P. Smith
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Hi, as a minister I understand the poem and it is well written. I enjoyed reading it (if that is the right phrase)
Thank you!
Many people I bury had no hope within them and the grieving crowd evidence no hope at all, like sheep without a shepherd they are quite lost by the cut of death.
You’ve definitely grasped the point of the poem. A little depressing, no doubt, but it was something I needed to get out of my system.
But I know my Redeemer lives, and that changes everything.
My own faith is perhaps a bit more unorthodox, but it give me comfort in times of trial. Worth a post in itself, perhaps.
BTW thanks for the kind words over at Nukes
my pleasure. I’ll be by in future.
“like a murmuration of starlings” mmmm….very nice.
Thanks! I have to admit that I was rather pleased with that one myself.
Thanks for stopping by!
I admire your skill with words, Smith.
Thank you! I appreciate that.
It creeps me out thinking that I enjoyed this read. It has all I like, unexpected thoughts (comparison graves to wounds), wonderful imagery (the bereaved flock to the graveside like a murmuration of starlings) and recognition of feelings (lines 9-12). Even though the subject might be dim, the poem is beautifully executed.
It kinda creeps me out that I wrote it. But I always try to present something that one might find new, or different, or perhaps even a little startling.
Thank you for the complements. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
be nice to have a way with words like this…
Thank you! That means a lot!
It also matters who you put in there. Great poem Smith.
Certainly it matters. But one thing that has always struck me is the feeling of desolation I have at every funeral I have ever attended, irrespective of who the deceased was.
Thanks for the kind words. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
whew, that was something deep.
I just like to keep you guessing.