PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In Greenwich Mean time, you, Gwenallt,

lay dying into death in hospital.

In Eastern Standard time, I, not yet Starward,

lay squirming with the worst fever of the

worst flu I had ever encountered

conveyed by a pugbully at school

who never covered his mouth when he sneezed.

But death is no longer a dead end, just a direction

toward Heaven, guaranteed by Christ's Resurrection.

He poured Himself out to fill our incomplete

existences (fractured by sin's conceit).

In joyous Heaven we shall meet,

in the Bright and Morning Star's eternal light;

we who, without knowing, shared affliction this night.

Starward