Death Undone
What a tug-of-war is death for us, losing on this side. The slow steady Pull we, constantly, fight to stop. Oh for some strong warrior king, his armies to march against, conquering this fearsome foe, pulling, pulling, ever pulling more.
Oh for a day when we look at the grave and laugh in mockery at empty pits of dirt and rocks — stolen spoils, left but to death soiled rags—those scattered grave clothes, clinging on no bones, no hair, no more rotting flesh.
Oh for that day! when death, cast from his throne, no longer litters the earth with caskets or chisels bleached head stones. But Pull—I Pull! Against his grip that takes loves and dearer lives than mine.
Oh Warrior King, this conquering you’ve finished seems undone for us in time. But Still. Still! I still will trust – You alone. For when comes my time’s end, You will collect my bones. For death will lose another prize, his work undone—I, free from him, will rise to death’s undoer, My Warrior King. Forever in Your life, I sing.
aa 9.18.00
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