Such sadness when a child is lost so soon,
To life’s inimitable reality, the end.
Some say sadness should not define the
Truth of death but when it comes insidiously
To one so young with pain and suffering,
It leaves one with feelings that God
Does not Love his own creation.
We who awaken to the toils and travails
Of life’s burdensome assail, of waning youth
And upon the shoulders of the aging process,
compares little to the distraught felt
By a child’s feebly opening eyes
Not understanding why such anguished few years
Upon him, life’s availed.
Soon, though, arrives when I might feel
Much like that child that my years on earth
Have come to the end of my apportioned time.
The deterioration of my skin and bones
And excruciating manifest pain
And my eyelids not wanting to open
Because even in sunny days, within my heart and soul
Are covered in grey clouds and rain.
It is not that I am saying “woe is me”
But that here in this moment of my life
I am anguished of life’s end and like that child
Not understanding why like this it must end.
In pain and shared tears of sadness from loved ones
Why should we not of God’s presence
Feel mourn filled disdain?
I would gladly give some years of my life
To that child, to witness love, to witness happiness,
And yes to witness sadness delineating from what is joy.
If I could give the fondness of some memories
Within that child’s abode, I would smile in the face of death
That I had stolen from it’s sinister grasp
And given that child the gift of time.