Sometimes we live

Sometimes we live

Afraid to die,

Or rage

With false bravado

Facing death.

There is no clear path

To follow

As the light fades,

With nobody to thank

In the aftermath.

Every flower dies

They fuss not

The stink of them

The rot of breaking down

The scent of rebirth

In the morning

The dew, wet on the grass

Will not make up

For the ashes.

Grey smoke

Is not God-given

There are no chariots

The spirit is at pains

To say it is willing

Even in the face of

Adversity,

Would that it were so.

It is not blasphemy

To say

Amen

Or sing a Hallelujah

Even the bravest

Learn to cry.