When at last I’ve crossed that blessed bar
And my bones are long buried in the dust,
I trust that they will become
The sturdy roots of some ancient oak;
That gives his branches to the birds.
This is the way of things in this becoming world;
Between being and nonbeing,
Between the first breath and the last,
And the long passage to a sudden end –
Life must give itself to life
Beneath the dappled shadows of the oak.
Yet, I trust from this frail beginning
That death’s final goal soars in the heavens
Among those birds born from my bones,
Where light transcends all dappling shade,
And the tears that made this dust fertile will
Deliquesce to grace that ends all ending.
Jedidiah Paschall October 20, 2018
ST. JUDE'S TAVERN 
Love the rhythm and alliteration in this line: “Among those birds born from my bones”
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Thanks Chris!
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Dear Jed,
This is the oak where Abraham was buried, right? Great moment of thought as the soul passes from life to death. This is not the end. Are your mixing up poetry and short stories, now? Great stuff.
Thank you,
Gary
On Sat, Oct 27, 2018 at 4:26 PM ST. JUDE’S TAVERN wrote:
> jedidiahpaschall posted: “When at last I’ve crossed that blessed bar And > my bones are long buried in the dust, I trust that they will become The > sturdy roots of some ancient oak; That gives his branches to the birds. > This is the way of things in this becoming world; ” >
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Gary,
Glad you caught the Abraham reference! I was trying to write in his voice. I am working on an epic story driven poetic piece (kind of along the lines of Homer, Dante, and Milton) that weaves in modern poetic forms and a big story. I’ll be grappling with a theological analysis of history (what has happened in human history, what it means, and what God is doing in it). This will be a long project (my guess is 2 years minimum), but for now I am building my notes and trying to make sure that any time I have an idea come my way that I write it down.
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