Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Pulled from the Darkness

He went tender into his death, a midlife death,
Old age should have burnt him out, yet it didn’t!
It was love, love, against the trying of days.

And there he sat idle, father to child, a sad plight,
Sorrow against the thriving of the coming darkness.
Trying and cursed with tears nonetheless, he prayed.

His words forked, burned and raved against death,
For his infant, as if to grieve it on its way—
From the dying of light, he pulled at darkness:

His life given instead, at the last upsurge and billow
A prayer answered perhaps, for a dying infant!
A life agreed, for a life taken, in less than a breath.

No: 4744/ April 1, 2015