Our March

For Kara.

Oh death, how much we loathe you.
How we rue the day you entered the world
and with that bite
that began with a flicker of a doubt
that God was good
we all were hurled
into this breaking, into this aching,
into the dark hands
of the shadowlands.
Oh death, enemy of our soul,
you rob us of our precious ones
and cost an unbearable toll.
But death, you un-welcomed guest,
you stealer of the best,
though we weep and wail at your repose,
you are no victor. Your sting is sharp
but fails to leave a lasting mark
on us, your blood bought foes.
So, go to hell, oh death,
be damned and cursed and lost,
for you were swallowed up
in victory at that old rugged cross.
Beneath your shadow, upheld by faith,
we limp our heavenward march
and enter trembling that sacred rest
through heaven’s pearly arch.

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