Sunday, April 17, 2011

Palm Sunday

I have dreams every once in a while that something bad has happened to my parents. When that happens, I contact them as soon as I can reasonably do so after getting up, just for good measure. Last night, I dreamed repeatedly that my Dad had died, so when he got on Skype this morning, I pounced, with a "Good to see you're not dead!!" or something like that.

He agreed.

So here's a poem about that, and about Palm Sunday, which is today (in case you missed it).

Palm Sunday

I woke from a dream
that my Father had died
and that I was the only one crying.

In all actuality
my Dad's quite alive,
but in honesty, he's also dying.

From the moment we're born
the clock's counting down.
It will happen someday, that's for sure.

And for all our ideas
and life-lengthening tricks
death's the one thing for which there's no cure.

You knew this.

When You rode into Jerusalem
You'd known for some time
the horrific way in which You'd die.

You knew they'd betray you,
that they'd all turn against You,
and You still looked them all in the eye.

You knew from Creation--
when earth-time first started--
You'd be called to become just a man.

And despite pain of death
You did this for love.
Life's Author died, according to plan.

And rose again.

So that death
is no longer
the end.

1 comment:

Allie said...

I just came by to catch up with your beautiful poetry and Huzzah (!) a poem that rhymes! Lovely, just lovely. Miss you, my friend.