Smashed by Lightning into the Shenandoah
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Ecclesiastes 9:5
I wonder what he took to death of me.
His death was whacking as a lightning strike.
Then we were washed away. It left him free
Of anything like warmth. The lightning spike
Alone would wipe his brain and heart of love
More perfectly than hard drives’ data cleaned.
I doubt that Christ and God, enthroned above
Where lightning comes from, could have, stooping, gleaned
A grain of what we shared. Then waters scrubbed
What remnants might have once been there. His Matt
And wives were also cleansed away. Waves rubbed
Away all left until the lightning splat.
He took down not one tiny piece of thought
Of you or me, not even one fond jot.
~ Phillip Whidden