Safe in Death
Ah, sweet sleep,
Sweet slumber,
Sweet death.
When will you come to me?
To release me from all my pain
To free me from all the hurt
Begone all oppressors and tyrants,
You have no power over me now.
I will be with my Lord,
The one being that cares for me
Through the hatred, the mockery,
The minimization of my being.
Begone! I am safe!
I have grown aged and decrepit
By the power of sin
Like a sacrifice my beauty was taken
My mind once exploding with figuring
Now tired, sapped, so many ideas and hopes killed.
My muscles ache from straining,
Pliability now gone
My heart stops, then starts,
Not sure if it should beat on.
I sit still and wait for the Lord to fetch me.
My last breath will be a gasp
At the sight of the Lord,
And I will laugh when He says,
“See, that wasn’t so bad.”
“Come joyfully to me,
This is where you belong.”
And all worries and strife
Will evaporate and
No longer exist.
But I in my soul
Will live forever in the Lord.
Without earth-borne parameters.
Earthly foolishness, you matter not!
Prayer for my Life
Why am I here
Answer me God
In silence I find my answer
Silence which rules the universe
And fingers destiny through the ages
Amalgamation of spirit and clay am I
My turn to join life’s rhythms
I grew in fits
I sought evenness
I found equilibrium
Grateful I got to dance
Seeing the wisdom of His way hidden
In every life experience
God you fill me to the brim
Now used and tired vessel
My body returns to the clay which formed me
And it’s as it should be
My spirit returns to its source,
The Almighty.
Outta Here
It’s the end. What do I want to say?
‘F you’ to all the bastards.
‘Thank you’ to anyone who was a friend.
‘The world needs help,’ would be my final conclusion from my research here.
And I’d ask ‘Why.’ Like I’ve been asking my whole life. Why is the world
So messed up? Why are people so mean? Why don’t people get
That we need to help each other while we’re here.
If you’re one that believes that this is all there is,
Why do you trash the place?
Why do you trash the people who are stuck
Here with you and could
Actually help you enjoy it more.
Then I’d end with
‘What was was’ and
‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’
Not to me, anyway. I’m
Outta here.
Clara Klein has been a freelance writer for almost 30 years She first took up the pen to help her cope after her mother’s death, and hasn’t stopped writing since. Many of her writings are poems, prayers, and prose about life situations. Her aim is to inspire and help people by sharing wisdom she has learned from difficult circumstances. The subject of final poems was apropos for her to write about, as she has been forced to face the subject of death head on.
