A free-verse poem about the order of death within a family. |
Each generation creates the next for generation after generation forming the links in their family chain. There is a natural order to life, the way things are meant to be, with fathers dying before their sons. Members of the youngest generation pay little heed to Death, for they are far back in the queue awaiting their turn to confront their mortality. Family members line up on the edge of the precipice of life staring down into the valley of Death into which all must one day tumble. Standing old and fragile, shaky and weak, trying not to fall forward into the abyss are the great-grandfathers, followed in turn by the grandfathers, the fathers, and finally the sons. Those farther back in the queue unconsciously take comfort that it is not yet their time to stand first in line. There will always be line-breakers who jump ahead in the queue and leap into the void before their time. Yet, as long as one stands not first in line, he can postpone the need to acknowledge that his time for tottering upon the edge of the cliff will all too soon arrive. But, when one becomes the oldest living family member, it is he that stands and directly looks down into the oblivion of Death. He must consciously confront his mortality as his days are now numbered, for there is no other before him in the queue of Death. Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |