Sublime

Say not, the struggle nought availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem

and you shall know that I am the Lord GOD.

“Everything dies, Mr. Ovid. Except God and the angels and the idea of freedom in the hearts of the pure.”

The deaths came as a shock to everyone. As Jody watched three grieving families, she thought of the comfort Larry’s words had provided his family. She hurt for the children, those “who knew unquestionably of their parents’ love, but desperately missed the reassurance and security that their physical presence provided.” She couldn’t stop thinking of

“As the LORD lives, who has saved my life from every adversity, 30as I swore to you by the LORD, the God of Israel,

“I love you,” I said. Because it was still true. After everything, it was still true.

Let us agree

for now

that we will not say

the breaking

makes us stronger

or that it is better

to have this pain

than to have done

without this love.

Let us promise

we will not

tell ourselves

time will heal

the wound,

when every day

our waking

opens it anew.

Perhaps for now

it can be enough

to simply marvel

at the mystery

of ho