our goodbyes

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I went to a service yesterday
a celebration of life
of a life well lived
in imperfection and struggle
he built bridges
so others could cross over troubled water
to meet in agreement
now he
has crossed over a bridge
we remembered who he was to us
some did not speak of it
some spoke very well
and there were tears
there was silent wailing
turning from there
and going on

 

for
max aud
bridge builder

in the midst

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in the midst
in the mist
of my days
only my heart senses
a small understanding
of pain

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I wrote the above because, today, I followed a tweet by Glynn Young
to his Saturday Good Reads post.
And there, under his list of poetry, was a familiar name that caught my eye.
John Blasé …a poem…”20 July 2012″…i clicked on the link.

And this is what i found …

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20 July 2012

O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days… ~ Psalm 102.24

The news reporter said you just can’t make sense
of something like this. He referred to understanding,
the singular sense; but what about the plural senses?
I can clearly make senses of something like this for I
see the tears huddling in the corners of my eyes and I
feel the trembling of my hands at the keyboard and I
taste the copper of blood from biting my lips and I
smell the fear that sucks oxygen out of thin air and I
hear the sleeping of my children who for now are
safe as the sun also rises on this dark July morning
that seems, I must report, to make no sense at all.
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