Poetry and the like, by Amy Opal Marshall


Wednesday, 2 September 2020

The Last Word

 

Words shook me.

I felt the reality of death in them – 

        stark, unveiled,

        shimmering and pain-laced.

A brief utterance in time,

But the weight in its wake

        bends eternity.


O God of bodies,

Your presence feels our fear;

Our tears

        are Your heart language.

Fragility

        does not offend You.


O God Resurrector,

There’s Light

        coming out the edges

        of The Sentence,

Because You are present there,

        already, now.

It’s just the first clause;

The Word at the end is Yours,

        is You.


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