Our March

For Kara.

Oh death, how much we loathe you.

How we rue the day you entered the world

and with that bite

that began with a flicker of a doubt

that God was good

we all were hurled

into this breaking, into this aching,

into the dark hands

of the shadowlands.

Oh death, enemy of our soul,

you rob us of our precious ones

and cost an unbearable toll.

But death, you un-welcomed guest,

you stealer of the best,

though we weep and wail at your repose,

you are no victor. Your sting is sharp

but fails to leave a lasting mark

on us, your blood bought foes.

So, go to hell, oh death,

be damned and cursed and lost,

for you were swallowed up

in victory at that old rugged cross.

Beneath your shadow, upheld by faith,

we limp our heavenward march

and enter trembling that sacred rest

through heaven’s pearly arch.