Why do you fear death when
you’ve died so many times before?
It was new once and it scared you,
an awful boom and tingling sensation
up your spine, lights dimmed,
an explosion of impossible colors
tasting like metal and smelling of wood,
leaving you breathless
You wake up on a strange planet
of red moons and amber clay
and ask, “Why does it have to be this way?”
A baritone voice tells you sternly,
“You’re a little nothing, and you’re not the
one who’s allowed to ask questions.”
Author’s Note: I wrote this poem a few years back around the time my father passed. I was in deep grief and feeling far away, almost abandoned, by God, and I’d been reading the Book of Job a lot. The poem went through many revisions and, in the end, I feel like it encapsulated the grief and spiritual desolation I felt during those years.