A poem of sorrow

Kinneret, the Sea of Galilee. After visiting Aaron’s grave, I traveled to the Sea of Galilee and snapped this photo.

The dead do not live on in our memories
Who would be satisfied
Their existence reduced
To a passing thought
A fleeting memory?

The dead were not summoned for need by God
If Almighty should have want
Of anything at all
He is neither All
Nor Mighty

The dead are not by God called home
Even a wicked father
Does not bereave siblings
With tragedy and violent suffering
To summon the one

The dead do not become as stardust
Will the dust give praise to You, Lord?
"To dust you shall return"
Is the cause, not consolation
Of my grief

The dead do not float with cherubim above
For our essence is beyond mere disembodied soul
Flesh and bones we were fashioned
Our true form
Earth is where the Divine settled us
Our true home
In resurrection both restored

There is nothing good in death
Nothing
No reason
No comprehensible meaning
Even should there be
It would not console me
Because it would not return the dead to me

There is no consolation but this:
"I will swallow up death forever
And wipe away every tear from their eyes"
Until then I will grieve for my brother
Bitterly taken in youth
A beautiful branch broken
Violently ripped from the tree
He is gone and not coming home
And only our tears remain