Strength,
we work for it,
we pray for it;
to get us through
another day
fraught with circumstances
stacked against us.
Yet there is no strength for this,
no prayer that could leave our lips
that would delay the coming
of each singular end.
We are born
of the crackling fire.
Sparks sent flying into the darkness,
burning bright briefly,
then silently winking out.
There is no way
to build a tolerance,
nor grow immune,
for it is not disease,
but the opposite.
It is our natural state.
Lord, when I prayed
that you would send me angels,
I didn‘t know you would send Death.
HG – 2016
