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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2220891
a poem written on the passing of my mother, 3/22/2020
A man who held the Keys to Heaven
Sprung free the lock in proclamation
That, when in full communion cry,
“Holy! Holy!” to God on high,
We closest are to souls we lost,
Who sings among the heavenly host.

And with the mourning gates blown wide,
Tears, free and woeful, silenced pride.
No finger brushed the tears aside,
No mother's gentle voice to guide.
They carried moments on their way,
Of joy, regret, and “wish I may…”.

It snowed that night, when time went dark.
My prayers and panic did their work,
To shape my thoughts in numbing shock
That muted aims of brothers’ talk.
A viral hell pressed thoughts on death
And the world, in fear, held its breath.

Yet, Mother, your soul had settled in,
Your glory walk soon to begin.
Earthly cares, worries, and woes,
Fell hellward, flung from an unbound soul.
Two in, two out, we bent and weaved
While you, unburdened, prepared to leave.

Your chuckle absent, bereft of sigh,
In turn and prop and “maybe I…”
“Oh dear,” you’d say, “well, it could be worse,”
And, “Could you get my lotion from my purse?”
You’d think of your sister, who died so young.
“She had lupus, you know.” Her death had stung.

Now two with Keys prayed over you,
One - your husband - faithful and true.
You took your cue and floated free,
While father kissed you tenderly.
The Savior wrapped you with His grace,
“Well done, my child. You’ve won the race.”

When the great I Am held fast his child
We sang “Amazing Grace” awhile,
And stories begot of smiles and tears,
Of “when mom used to…” and then, “oh dear…”
Our father notes your forgiving heart,
I fear we’ve misplaced your loving art.

And so we lifted high the cross,
In careful steps we closed our loss.
At graveside, masks were lowered with care
For “Jesus Loves Me” and a prayer
A rose was offered, one by one,
And we toasted you as they lowered you down.

Ah, mother, now your eyes do see
The sweetest grace of the Trinity.
And now eternal hallelujahs sing,
With saints and angels, praises bring.
The Sabbath Day just bloomed for me,
As the faithful unite in praise to Thee.

So, day to day, we’ll weave our way
Our troubled hearts to Him convey.
His victory from cross and grave,
Your heart held fast, and now you are saved.
Can that be mourned? No! God be praised!
Yet, forget you we’ll not, ‘til we end our days.


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