Life and Death Speak

© Jeanne E Webster – All Rights Reserved

 

The waters overpower us
With ruinous waves so high;
We cling tightly to each other
As lifeless bodies float by.

“Mama! Mama! Help me!”
My little one cries out;
My strength is waning fast
Numbing pain releasing doubt.

Up and down, back and forth
The waves shake us like dolls;
We spit out water to take in air
As the tide our spirit mauls.

My eyes are stuck wide open
My fingers glued to her coat;
She no longer screams “Mama!”
Utter silence swathes her throat.

Prayers of anguish gurgle forth
Amidst the roaring sea spray;
“Oh, my God!” “Help me, Lord!”
Become epithets spoken today.

Menial things matter not anymore
Squabbles are quickly laid aside;
Many to-do’s or forgotten sins
Are swigs for the ravenous tide.

There’s lots of dying, Dear one,
Enough to sate death’s thirst;
Life is clinging to another breath
Till you think you’ll surely burst.

Is this the true “Amen” corner
When all of life is predated?
When the Almighty speaks His word
And reclaims what He’s created?

So be it… from dawn to setting sun;
Life and death speak with one voice:
So be it…Lord Jesus, please come!

[Written on the fourth day after a massive earthquake and ensuing tsunami devastated Japan’s people.]

Dark Thinking

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Dark Thinking

©2014 Jeanne E Webster.  All rights reserved

 

“You’ll always be my little girl.”

 

What did that mean?

 

Memories still tumble down

That rocky hill of childhood;

Strange things . . . scary things

Deep dark and screamy things

 

. . . thought the little girl.

 

Rock, rock . . . thump and bump

Three kids sat all in a row;

The sofa became their “carni” ride

They rocked and rolled and screamed!

 

Back and forth with such hefty force

They drove holes into the wall.

Memories haunt the little girl

Even though she’s now grown old.

 

“You’ll always be my little girl.”?

There were no hugs or comforting words;

Those came from Gramma’s arms and heart

Not this mommy dear.

 

Can’t fathom those dark blurbs from the past

What did they all mean?

The thumps and rocking so hard?

All part of the ugly scene?

 

Just childish images of a bogeyman,

A phantom father’s brutalities?

Can’t open that door . . . and what’s more . . .

The little girl doesn’t want to!