When tragedy comes home to roost,
taking it’s rest among what is left,
chards only black as midnight,
beauty gone forever below the sod,
the gaping inner void it leaves behind,
bleeding wounds that will never really heal;
what do you say?
Clichés is all that can roll out,
for gentle words do little to heal,
yet what else is there when arctic blast come
numbing the heart as it beats within,
perhaps never to become flesh again?
The cold lonely road most of us will walk,
more than once,
a sure truth for the many.
Little comfort for those on the way,
yet life goes on as it always has,
we simply endure for a time,
until then,
it is we who are mourned
when our time comes.
Br. Mark Dohle, OCSO
