This is the wrong good-bye.
At thirty, death stands on the threshold
ghoulish as an x-ray
staring straight through all our hopes and plans.
We will not welcome this grim usher
who comes before the play’s half-done.
Against the injustice,
against the desperation,
against the running out of time,
against the fear of my body’s demise,
against all these,
Love stands.
We crave your presence, Lord,
even in the wrong good-bye.
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