Last Night

Really?
Even the little things?
Or maybe there are no little things
and I am just wrong
again.

How I Might Be

If on hollowed ground I seek
Living in the sense of life
Will the holy keepers keep?
And keep me in this searing strife?

Death that holds me like a friend
Means to me so many things
I will see You in the end
And wear my robe and all my rings.

So as the bullets fly so near
Sometimes ripping into me
Fill me with your holy fear
And teach me now how I might be.

They that do and wait for us,

Who toil just to stay behind

We admire and make a fuss

And hope that they will be quite kind.

We who stumble on as mates

And slip and fall and hurt

Make our way to the gates

With shoutings long and curt.

Him that sits above our heads

And watches from the sky

We wonder when He makes our beds

And cannot ask Him why.

Sometimes you just have to go

Perhaps a walk, perhaps a ride.

Sometimes you have to leave

Perhaps right now, perhaps next year.

Sometimes you have to stay

Perhaps for a day, perhaps for awhile.

Sometimes you have to live

Even though another did not.