A Very Shallow Grave Since It Doesn’t Even Exist

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

If I could visit it, his grave would freeze

Me out of knowledge, secret knowledge of

The limbs and branches that he chopped from trees.

He claimed in saintliness of heart his love

For them.  Supposing that he did, what then?

A man is forced by circumstances that

He chose but then among the worst of men

He sees religion and his soul goes splat.

Some friends, drug dealers, fled to France and left

Ill-gotten rooms to him upon the bank

Of Shenandoah’s river.  Then the heft

Of Heaven’s lightning struck him.  Who’s to thank?

  The Christ and God Who killed him – Is that right?

    A half-blood man remarked, “He felt God’s smite.”

©  Phillip Whidden