She could have been born

On a Mumble’s beach

So close to the black dust

With it’s dark invasive gift

Given the vast power to mistrust.

She could not hear the sea

So suffered in the swift swoop

Of seagulls seeking to steal her food;

Was on guard for nonexistent

Slings, arrows and defamations.

She feared the indefinable

And questioned her privacy

After he had fled the Earth.

She was frightened of death;

Of its unexpected timing

Or its plausible and impossible pain.

She thought she was fourth

But I know she was actually fifth.

The World wore kid gloves

Before imposing worldly grief

Not in kindness, more in fear

Of the rising of her wrath

Which was her chosen defense.

But when life’s toxins amassed

And sepsis tore her frame in two

She was blessed with all consuming sleep.

I was the only child who watched

While she unconsciously inhaled

Her last and very peaceful breath

She needn’t ever have feared her death

Because she was taken in sleep -

It was a very painless ending

Compared to her complex living.

In the end, God was kind to her.

© Griffonner 2025