Missing Pieces

 

I wonder if the dead could write,

what poems they’d send back.

Perhaps they miss us too, and might

reciprocate the lack.

 

Perhaps they’d say it’s wrong to fret,

before the game is done,

that players sin when they forget,

to fill the game with fun.

 

Perhaps they’d say we shouldn’t fear,

the things we cannot know,

that were the bigger picture clear,

we wouldn’t worry so.

 

Perhaps they’d tell us if they could,

but they are not allowed.

Perhaps they’d tell us it’s all good,

beyond that baleful shroud.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s