| Written Upon Hearing of the Death of a Classmate, by Rebekah Griffin Greene |
| Ah, the sweet immortality of youth blurs the hard edges of reality. So we said, "I'll never die before I'm grey, save your scythe for another day." Who am I, that Death so swiftly goes around, avoiding my glance? One by one, we hear not the dirge in the distant future. One by one, too busy are we to notice the silent black shadows teasing the corners of our minds. One by CHOICE! Where is my choice in this matter? To choose my own death would be a victory for me! My will above Yours!....or so I think... 'Twould be a joke to those who know a different tune, that of the army of Death... (I can hear them laughing, their cackles echo...) So Death controls us......who controls Death? A myth, only a myth, of blood-stained wood on a lonely hill... A myth, a tale, only a tale, of One who holds Life in His hands.... One by one, as lemmings, we face a decision, we can choose the cliff or the clouds... One by one Death knocks and breaks the door when we say "NO!" One by WHO IS THIS MAN? Only a joke, only a joke, NO, this is not a joke anymore, my end will come... but He says He has Life waiting for me.... Won by One who saw life in the sky Won by One who sent Death running into the far recesses of nonexistence... A single point of light foils the obsidian night. Hope is not dead. Y'shua --Rebekah Griffin Greene, 1995 |


