Loss

Yesterday I read a novel and one of the characters, an elderly Holocaust survivor, told the story of his time in the Nazi death-camps. Like all good fiction, it was true. It made me cry. And so I wrote this.

Oh, loss. You hard and dull drag of a thing, you constant ache, you impairing crippling relentless howl.

I hate you.

I smell your smoking ovens, hear your cackling grave-watch, feel your creeping decay, see your black eye-sockets

Oh, loss.

You shyster, you faker, you shape-shifter, you fraud and counterfeit. Your dull drone drowns a song.

You sudden shimmering flashing horror show, you ugly painted harlot, you hammering knocking pretending stench.

Oh, loss.

I know you and dread you and try not to think of you and you won’t leave.

Oh, loss, loss, loss.

You dead and dying creeping crying decaying braying plaguing pretender.

Jesus will undo you, Jesus will erase you, Jesus will make me forget you forever and ever.

Have your fun now. Your time’s coming.

Oh, cross, cross, cross, where my Savior lost and lost and lost and sent time spinning and evil running and life coursing and coming.

Oh, grave where is your sting?