Chris's Death, like Everyone's

Music: Fugue in B Minor for Organ.
By J. S. Bach. Sequenced by Jim Michmerhuizen.

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Nicholas Gordon

Chris' death, like everyone's,
Comes just once a year,
Around the time when you might see him
Smiling ear to ear.

Suddenly life turns to dust,
Which then just blows away,
And everything from hope to joy
Lies naked to the day.

Pain seems insupportable,
And time crawls like a snail
Towards an endless nothingness
Before which all things pale.

The point? Ah, yes! There is no point.
It's all a mystery,
Why anything is here at all,
Or how Chris came to be.

And so he waits upon the cliff,
And once a year he dies,
While just behind him on the grass
A field of glory lies.



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