Wake Of My Death Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Wake Of My Death



Softly listening to echoes fall upon my lips, thinking
of words spoken through love, caring, compassion and
stress.

Have they all been good, helpful, encouraging, helping
another, or have they been angry, cross and unkind,
hopefully the first ones.

That would be the correct way of doing something right
in this empty world, wanting to leave positive attitudes
and impressions in the wake of my death.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Daniel Brick 29 May 2016

This is in essence a saintly poem, and I mean that in a very precise way: Most of us rationalize our failings, ignore our faults and pretend to be blind to our spiritual needs, and we expect God's mercy will save us. The saints in contrast admit their failings, ask forgiveness for their faults, devote hours to spirituality and still pray for God's mercy. Because of their humility. Most people do the minimum and expect the maximum. Saints are always striving to do more. I think we will all be saved because the saintas of all faiths have done so much to make humanity worthy and spiritually righteous. Saints never become complacent, never give in to despair, are always active in worship. Thank God, we have the Saints.

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