The Grave Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

THE GRAVE

Shall I taste the soil of death
When the bark is lifted
From the shell of my canoe?
For after I exhale my final breath
I must offer up all that was gifted
Prior to rising into a state I never knew.

Shall I swallow with my mouth
That unhallowed earth
Falling quickly south
Departing from the finite route
Which began at birth
Before my soul shall be cast out
Into that realm of terrible doubt?

Or if, by Christ, may He choose to spare me
From that awful union with the mire
Be it with ice or be it with fire,
Not to be condemned to my requiem's attire,
To the baleful, endless, briny sea.

For if it be so
I shall escape from that fate
Before it be too late
Never to go
Into my rest
It will only be so at her bequest.

Yes, It will surely be due
To The Virgin Mary's merciful desire
To raise me into the blissful blue,
While cheating a hell so black and dire.

JOHN LARS ZWERENZ

{C} 2019