Eventually

there will be 

no You 

just a holy mound 

of rubber skin 

woven together 

in a rug 

at the feet 

of God’s 

immaculate 

throne

oh my angel

come home

 

If we could 

hold you up 

each limb 

across 

our bended backs

for all we do 

is watch 

and pray 

and kiss your bow

that bends 

and sways 

 

Your leaves 

of sunlit joy 

upon 

our faces

fall

oh day 

how long

you last

I pray

this mind

gets eaten up

before He

enters you 

to paint 

your grace

unto the silence

where

nothing awaits