Sonnet of 2 deaths (no. 40 of E verses)

Within one singular breath
is the distance between life and death,
for ones not yet born and those who have been here,
young, old, straight, queer—

Man, woman, and those singularly defined,
we cross the paths to the future primed
without a road map, without explanation,
we exist, moving from station to station

sometimes armed with knowledge, sometimes learning nothing—
Life is sparked, lit and burning true, then snuffed out, a done thing.
Did we wonder what we would have done if we knew,
if this were the last time? Suspicions grew

fast, and blame and grief, and guilt too, they last; the memories overpower
all the consolations of well-wishers, the inner never-ceasing shower
from utter loss, feeling like rubbish, without hope or certainty.
What is life now without my loved one beside me?

Our baby had checked out early; what can we do now?
The snow falls fast upon the farmer’s plow,
even after tragedy, we keep on moving; one must not wait,
so others can be fed, and to not suffer the same fate.

For all are invited to Death’s door,
let’s pray it’s not our time to go yet, remain here a little more.

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