Meditation XI

O God who walks along the somber halls
of hospitals, conducting spirits through
the prelude to their ageless anthem, calls

them gently from uneasy sleep into
a dream that scours all the dullness from
their eyes; Who shares the paralyzing brew

new widows drink, remembering how numb
the serpent struck your heel and how his head
collapsed beneath your weight; Who offers crumbs

of comfort at the table sorrow spreads
devoid of nourishment; Who sits beside
eroded gravestones whose forgotten dead

are cherished by you, lovely as a bride;
Have mercy. Help me mourn with those in thrall
to grief with your compassion as my guide.

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Photo by Palle Knudsen on Unsplash

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This poem was generated by the author’s human mind. No AI chatbot was used.