why they do not weep for their beloveds
or grieve overly long,
why when the shock of a new silence leaves
their lives they find a new peace in days without sound--
they go without because they know
the going will not be long;
and yet I weep because I know you are already gone
and will be forever.
I am already without you though I do not want to be so.
Somehow the pearls of Peter's gate will not shine,
if I must pass through without you.
Nor will angelic choirs sing so sweetly as your own voice
softly saying my name with more praise than
any alleluia chorus.
The ennui of saintly wisdom would envelope me,
only because it would seem less wise than your own words--
with succinct sentences edifying the heart better
than any of their tomes--
you explicate "love" and "faith" and "hope" with
greater understanding than their own authors.
I think only weeds would grow in an Eden without you--
or else the petals of all those paradisiacal flowers would
wither and brown in the drought of your presence, the sun
not rising if you will not help it.
Though I'd inhabit marbled palaces, they would
be only mud and pitch in your absence.
Even God's glory is dim without your light.
This is not the peace and rest the preacher told me.
The widows do not weep because they are not always without.
I weep because I am already without you for always.
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