Tears fall. Too long unshed, for hurts left too long unsaid.
Water the earth with this lament.
For the death of innocence, murdered too young, gone too soon. The world could not abide you, so pure and bright against mortal cruelty. Your spark, a memory, each day fading a little more.
For love spent so frivolously, thrown with abandon at the feet of those who would not love in kind, who would not match this earnest heart’s reckless commitment. For a heart broken, still scarred, by wounds self-inflicted, born of desperate need, seeing what wasn’t there, what is still yet to be found, in a timing outside the control of human hands.
For the scorching desolation wrought by the ephemerality of earthly existence. Lives lost, friends and family wrenched away too soon, each one taking a piece of us with them. Youthful vigor fading, age taking its toll, lives transforming before these eyes, bereft of their old strength, their old spark, too soon.
For a heart, a soul, a will that isn’t ready, that will never be ready, when the bell tolls. When Death’s grim visage visits itself upon those whose time has come — too soon. Always too soon.
For a world that aches, that breaks, that misses all the time the beckoning voice that holds the key to all our longings. For a world that aches, that breaks, with a million questions, that rages against the unfairness, the silence, the brokenness of it all.
For every heart that believes itself unwanted, unloved. For every soul that believes itself isolated, alone, unimportant. For a world full of isolation, full of voices that never say what really counts, who fear honesty, vulnerability, the risk of rejection in the face of kindness and love. For people conditioned to defend themselves with cynicism, sarcasm, and detachment rather than live full and free with what we all need and ache for.
For hope that dies, over and over. Beaten down by the relentless march of what we see, we hear, what our senses convince us is the totality of reality.
Innocence was killed. Love was lost. Hope died, faded out. Death permeates our every waking moment.
But… what if?
What if Death did not have the final say? What if his voice was not the last we heard, but merely a passing whisper in the passage from this world to the next?
What if reality were more than our physical senses could perceive? What if we were incomplete, perceiving the world only in a limited, and often unreliable, form? A rough and indistinct sketch as opposed to the fully detailed, beautifully colored, real picture…
We’re only human, after all.
But look at this world around us.
After the fire, flowers bloom anew. Trees grow once more.
After the storm, the waters recede.
Innocence’s spark smolders, hope’s embers burn low, love’s fire still crackles underneath the ash.
Warmth is still here, life still breathing, pulsing, beating. Life is all around us. It lies beyond the death we all dread, and it is here in this present moment. Beautiful, bright, and raging against the lies of this world. Raging against the dying of the light that lives in all of us.
Take hold this fragile spark. Breathe, rekindle, the fire we lost — the fire we desperately need.
The tears still fall. We should never hold them back, never be ashamed of them. Even tears of sorrow are beautiful, are sorely needed.
But while we weep, we need not lose hope. Its fire yet burns. One day, it will dry all our tears.
Yes, the pain remains. This lament still aches in the bones, its roots buried deep.
But perhaps sorrow and joy can walk hand-in-hand. Not all is bright and beautiful in this life. Nor is all dark and drear.
We walk, we live, in the in-between. With the pain and tears of today and yet, if we dare, a bold, unyielding hope for tomorrow.
Sorrow and joy, hand-in-hand. One day at a time.
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