Wooded Waves

Just a jot about the end of things for the 
marginal mourner on this bier of rest that was laid in place for this 
wary wayfarer, as an offering of pained fitful rest for this one, 
too.
And it gave pain to his fatted raiment.
Hard wood offering a consolation and rest for none now,
But much for later.
Later is sooner than the age of these unyielding planks
And less the span of the each one’s dissolute life.
This one slept on a bier by baggage claim at the desolate port.

The other went to his consolation encased in a blessed greenwood.
Restless in life, a potential poorly employed,
A piteous man wracked on the inside
Now immolated and destroyed without.
A man’s vibrant dark hair, roiling muscles and full face
Thrashed by time’s tyrannical torture.
His soul frittered away, lost at sea by piece through decades.
The box ships him to fairer shores and to a harbor master
Who forgets his just fare.
And the wake of the sailing spruce
May have drowned remaining ones under the dark face of the deep -
Though by miracle of forgiveness and love
It moves them to breathe again, or for the first time.

And in the moment of greatest terror,
Of deepest despair and highest reaching,
He was alone on the cedar of Lebanon, or the weeping willow, or the Oak of Ur,
Destroyed by time, grayed and stripped naked by foul and feral choices.
Loneliness is the quiet companion to the silent scream of the heart.
Courage of the core has no outward salve.
The self seeing itself sees only the divine physician applying an unsullied bandage
And repairing the ship to ancient glory once enshrined.