Saturday, April 14, 2012

The Gravedigger

A baby cries
And slowly dies,
And I dig.

A rich man's cash
Melts in a crash,
And I dig.

A dying moan,
A wife alone,
And I dig.

An old man sighs
And softly dies,
And I dig.

A teen struck down--
It shocks the town,
And I dig.

A loaded gun,
Some deadly fun,
And I dig.

I don't ask why.
I rarely cry,
But I dig.

One day at last--
So slow? Or fast?
And I won't dig.

I'll lie down flat--
No tools, no hat--
And they will dig.

You return man to dust
        and say, “Return, O children of man!”
(Psalm 90:3 ESV)


Mara said...

Wow! I think this is the most depressive poem I have read on your blog. It was good but it was so sad.

Jim Swindle said...

Mara, thanks for the comment. I had literally been digging a grave when I wrote it...though only a grave for a pet. Still, that got me to thinking about gravediggers.

PS - I had accidentally deleted your comment, then put it back, so the time will show up wrong.

dfish said...

It's troubling how many with such constant reminders of death make no preparation for it. You'd think every doctor, nurse and mortician would be seeking the Lord but they're not.

Jim Swindle said...

dfish, yes, but all of mankind is blinded by sin until/unless the Lord opens our eyes. He uses proclamation of the message of Jesus to open the eyes of his people.

I suspect that many people who deal with death a lot tend toward universalism, since the truth may be too hard for them.

Tudles said...

I liked the end, its realy cool man.

Jim Swindle said...

Tudles, thanks for visiting my blog. I'm glad you liked that ending.