Ode to the Departed

A Poem by Jordan Deall

Let us not forget, in all the days of old,

There came upon us this being, this person, foretold.

No one could expect the impact they left,

Nor find what harm could be done where we are cleft.

Before this brilliance is laid to rest in the cold,

Let us remember the good things, those fitting the bereft.

The departed had but little luck to start and make good works,

But the mind of the departed had the power to touch all,

And so doing, made the world brighter, covering as a pall.

But let us not forget the wonderful oddities, the quirks.

The bunny-like hop of this brute, and his quiet, knowing smirks,

How much difficulty he gave all; even when he knew the call,

He never stopped, and would continue, against you, to appall.

But, how much pain he held, when this poor soul was in the final death jerks.

Lead us not to remember the bad, so much as the good, for gold

He was, in heart and intent, so our hearts mourn, with this heft.

The burden of death must be on to love, and be wary where evil lurks.

Lead us not to hate any wickedness done, if wicked it was, and avoid the gall;

For gall does creep on the hearts, when we least expect, so guard your mind-halls,

And leave no crevice for forgetfulness and despair, the gift of love given is a perk

The dead hath given to all without regard and was given with quickness and deft.

May we unite in joy of the life this being led, how wondrous, how bold.

May the love conquer where greed has, where despair has, and where life must.

None may say this life of constant, loving devotion was to waste,

For what is wasted is only lack of love, full of nothing but just lust.

To say that fuller lives are wastes is far too close to being in poor taste,

Too far from Truth for use, too far to pessimism for any health.

In pace requiescat, dear friend, dear beloved, for you deserve the afterlife’s eternal wealth.

May your example of tolerance and peace, joy and love, live on.

Too many ignore its wisdom, preferring to destroy one another

Rather than to feel, to pull off the masks, to remove the spectacles they don

For hate, as hate is an easier emotion to hold than to love one’s brother.

Truly, in pace requiescat, dear friend, you are the most deserving of heaven,

And may none whom you have loved forget you, nor your deeds, which have leavened.

© 2012 Jordan Deall

Author's Note

I think some words some will need to consult a dictionary to get the meaning of the terms I mean. This was also written when my dog died, so if it doesn't make sense throughout, that is why. But, please point out any inconsistencies, so it can become better.

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Reviews

Red Brick Keshner

I suspect or foresee that in a future reading of this poem you will inevitably tweak it. Perhaps in flow of its phonetics & rhythms, also quite possibly the flow of its thought, both in its logic & sequential transitions. My sympathy for your loss. I am preparing for mine as a dear friend is terminally ill & waiting for his "taxi cab," as he puts it. Thanks for sharing.