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Death Is But a Passing
A death is but a passing from one world into another,
A change of state, a change of place, a starting to discover,
A test of fortitude perhaps for those I leave behind,
A change of worlds, a change of views, another state of mind.
In all the time we spent together, we had so much fun.
While you are sad, now I am glad that pain on earth is done.
The tears you shed are drops of love now falling from your eye.
But have good cheer, for my time here made wings so I can fly.
I never could express my love as much as I loved you.
Remember all the little things together we would do?
When you go home and you’re alone, just speak as if I’m there.
Talk to the cat, pet your good dog, and sit in my old chair.
My presence you may still feel while I prepare to leave,
Don’t cry for me, for I am free. Don’t take too long to grieve
My body doesn’t matter much. Do with it what you will.
I’m done with strife, in my past life. Just know I love you still.
The station master at the gate asks, “What’s the destination?
It’s time to board, the train prepared to leave this earthly station.
And who will pay for passage onward? “I will” says the Lord.
He knows me, so the passage’s free—I trust His Holy Word.
.
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LTC Roy E. Peterson, US Army Military Intelligence and Russian Foreign Area Officer (Retired) has published more than 6,200 poems in 88 of his 112 books. He has been an Army Attaché in Moscow, Commander of INF Portal Monitoring in Votkinsk, first US Foreign Commercial Officer in Vladivostok, Russia and Regional Manager in the Russian Far East for IBM. He holds a BA, Hardin-Simmons University (Political Science); MA, University of Arizona (Political Science); MA, University of Southern California (Int. Relations) and MBA University of Phoenix. He taught at the University of Arizona, Western New Mexico University, University of Maryland, Travel University and the University of Phoenix.
This is the sweetest and most upbeat death poem which I have read in a long while. If it weren’t for the title I might almost think it’s a love poem. It’s beautiful and perfect to read on a grey Sabbath morning which I’m spending exclusively with my Jesus and my dog together because we (my dog and I, not Jesus) are still stuck on the farm in a sheet of ice, thank you!
Bless you, Yael, for your precious comments. As a young kid, I was raised on an upper Midwest farm and recognize sheets of ice and banks of snow. Stay warm and safe with your good dog.
Roy, this is a very skilled poetic presentation of a confident faith-based reply to a grieving loved one. You present death as an unthreatening next-step form of existence in which earthly pain is done and in which grief should be replaced by the comfort of knowing quite literally that the speaker has moved on to a better, painless place. Memories matter here greatly. So does the idea of a leap of faith, for what you do NOT do in this poem is explicitly describe the afterlife or speak of Jesus or judgment. Rather, yours is a very intimate conversation between the living and the newly-departed without it being weighed down with matters of theology.
I think your choice of iambic heptameter is a smart one since the subject matter warrants the increased gravity of the long lines and the philosophy presented is allowed to breathe and articulate more freely with the extra metrical feet. But it also affords some lingering leisure here — almost a reluctance to part ways. It’s a poem which is both sad and deeply comforting — an elusive and bittersweet combination. Well done, Roy.
Brian, your gracious perceptive comments further elucidate my intended message of the poem. I believe poems about death should be comforting to those of us left behind. I often struggled with the wish to be properly buried with my body intact, but over time, using logic and assessing biblical teachings, I know that those burned by fire, losing body parts including the head, and other methods of death, God does not discriminate when it comes to souls, as long as they trust in Him. The soul is body essence and not body matter.
Written from the perspective of the one who has passed, an often overlooked point of view, this poem is an encouragement to the one left behind.
When I first read the title, I was immediately minded of Emily Dickinson’s Because I Could not Stop for Death, written from the same perspective, and, like your poem, one that takes some of the terror and unfriendliness out of death, replacing it with hope. Both your poem and her poem describe death in terms of travel.
I love the Gospel comfort in the last couplet. This entire poem, in fact, is one of comfort. Thank you.
Gigi
Thank you, Gigi, for mentioning Emily Dickinson’s poem and making the comparison. I had not thought about her poem until you mentioned it, for it has been a long time since I read it, but I have a similar sentiment about death not triumphing over the afterlife, but instead a removal from the present pains and problems life poses. Now having just written this last sentence, I am reminded of the poem, “Death Be Not Proud,” by John Donne.
Roy, you say you take the purpose of a death poem is to be comfort for survivors. But why? Isn’t that because grief is a real human emotion and experience? You answer me by saying those who have died don’t grieve and take death lightly. That may be true for a faithful few. I can’t look at the earthly fires burning in my area and not fear for the unfaithful many.
The line I like best in your poem is the very earthly truth, “I never could express my love as much as I loved you.” Yes, I agree that my dear departed ones could say so, as I can say the same to them. When I say so, I think they say, “Pray for me.” Or as Scripture puts it, “It is a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from their sins.” If I never could express my love as much as I loved them, why would I not continue to pray for their souls and to care for their bodies as I did while they were living? I recently went to my family plot and said prayers after I placed roses on the graves of parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. I started doing that when I was a child, walking there and picking violets along the way for the great-grandparents, the only ones there at the time.
Your beautiful line, Roy, motivates every action we can take to remember our loves and renew our care for them.
Roy, the comments above leave little else to be said, so I’ll just mention that I also felt your poem was lovely and wise. My favorite line was: “But have good cheer, for my time here made wings so I can fly.” Great work!
Russel, wonderful comments and thank you for your encouragement.
Margaret, your perceptive comment is cause for me to put things into perspective that because of salvation, the feelings are from my perspective of believing in my own immediate afterlife through salvation as expressed specifically in the final verse. What a wonderful share of “picking violets along the way for the great-grandparents.!” As a young boy in a small rural community, I accompanied my parents when they visited the graves of my own grandparents on special occasions. I worried about you and the California wildfires and then thought that not being in the LA area you may not have been affected. I will pray for your continued safety and that your family and relatives we spared such a tragedy.
An emotive piece, Mr. Peterson. Keeping the flow unhindered, you have delivered a powerful message once said by The Lord: Be in this world but not of it. This poem, subtly, emphasises detachment from the material world. While it’s good to enjoy everything He endows us with, it’s also very important to keep death in mind and the hereafter. The final stanza puts a fine touch to the poem and also hints at your devotion and faith towards Him. Thanks for the read.
Bless you, Shamik, for the heartfelt comments and encouragement.
Roy, I may be the last to comment here, but I’d like to say how much I enjoy your poem, both the style and the theme: to me they must “join hands” to say what you mean to say. I especially like that it is poetry without heavily sounding like poetry–although the most beautiful lines to me were: “The tears you shed are drops of love now falling from your eye.
But have good cheer, for my time here made wings so I can fly.”
Truly, the mourning of our going away is because our survivors are still here, and some of the tears are for their being less without their loved one. But we do have that “blessed hope,” and that sustains us. And how we live with others and what we do with the gift of life may indeed fashion the “wing” that take us away. But how could we go without taking something of them with us? Beautiful ideas beautifully put down. Thanks.