Loss Did Not Make Me A Believer

Loss did not make me a believer:

I wanted so much to share this 'truth':

that there was, there is, another place

where You still are and We one day will be.

And that is the case, but for different reasons

than I ever expected. Nobody knew

or knows how to react, in the face

of the rippling, crippling crime of grief:

and, sure, it didn’t make me a believer

but it whipped away the certainty, the glue

I stuck to the concept to stick it away

somewhere it couldn’t really confront me;

because I am here, the march of the seasons

continues, and life still moves on through

whichever dull drudge or exciting embrace

comes along. And I have started to see

that whether someone is or is not a believer

is intensely unimportant. And, in due

respect to those who find motes of grace

around the confusion and devastation, I leave

my dogma behind. We walk the same river

and it flows around us, and silt accrues

and traps us if we stop. So some pray

for comfort. I am envious. They seem free.