What’s left when you are dead?
I used to hold your hand but your flesh is dust and your bones are buried in mud. My brother and I tossed you into the Bay like you wanted and added a huge rose bouquet. We made sure it was red.
My fingers gnarled like the roots of trees hold fast to the cliff.
The antiques you left are and broken and stained. There are a handful of gold coins in the drawer but they won’t buy a loaf of bread. There is no milk left. I am bereft.
If death is a long dark sleep and we do not awaken until the Resurrection, I will be stunned to be in the New Jerusalem. I mean just think of it. Being asleep and suddenly standing in hot dry air with a warm wind and palm trees swaying and bougainvillea all over the hedges and vines with plump purple grapes and clear streams and all that harp like music and all these strangers around you some dancing and singing and others blowing the Shafer or playing a game of gin rummy right where they left off. What kind of stuff would we eat? For sure there would never be red meat because the lion would lay down with the lamb and we all would understand that animals are friends and meat is dead flesh. Imagine one second you are less than a speck of dust and the next flesh that stands in the New Jerusalem. Who would you see? If your mother your father your sister your son your brother your daughter were not Believers, where would they be?
Would you have the slightest inkling of the horror that occurred before you arrived I mean the sun going dark at noon and all the stars falling down and the cities drowned and the mountains leveled into plains and those four horsemen riding in from the clouds on white steeds bearing swords of fire and blood. Would you have heard any of the screams or would whatever happened while you slept be hidden like a dream.
What does the End Times mean? If one Time ends and another begins, someone must have a watch. I try not to bother myself with these questions.
