matt tullos

the compost pile of writer, matt tullos. mostly poems, prayers, rants and naratives... "Gods passion for the world has compelled me to be a contributor in the warfare of grace rather than a spectator in the warfare of religion."

Location: Alexandria, LA, United States

Tuesday, November 11, 2003

accountant or a father

His eyes shifted between the hospice nurse and a half-filled white plastic cup of water.
I thirst; he thought but could not speak.
His hands trembling
Outside the day was spectacular.
a day where young boys would play football
in the fluttering, winsome leaves
and lovers would walk and talk of everything/nothing at all.
his heart beat strangely audible to him but no one else.
his breathing labored and hot
icy fear was blanketing his thoughts.
Shivering and alone he thought about his first few years
the what-ifs and whys
the times he galloped through the wilderness of his youth
eternally alive (it seemed, then)
no thought of this present moment.
(he had heard the hushed voices outside his room-
This was his week to die.)
His childhood knew nothing of the coming war, divorce,
and the death of a close friend.
But the waves of reality slowly washed the years toward this great formidable day.
Alone he lay
scared as hell. (waiting to know the import of that word)
he closed his eyes.
his fingers curled and tightened
as if holding desperately to the last strand of life.
the rattling medley of death had begun.
"Into thy hands"
he wished, wondering if God was an accountant or a father
he surrendered
utter silence
love lifted me
he sang
down the halls of Zion.
the answer: Father


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