Sunday Poem ~


    By Eric Mackay

Sonnet XVIII Death. Love Letters of a Violinist by Eric MacKay, illustration by James Fagan


It is the joy, it is the zest of life,
To know that Death, ungainly to the vile,
Is not a traitor with a reckless knife,
And not a serpent with a look of guile,
But one who greets us with a seraph’s smile, –
An angel – guest to tend us after strife,
And keep us true to God when fears are rife,
And sceptic thought would daunt us or defile.
He walks the world as one empower’d to fill
The fields of space for Father and for Son.
He is our friend, though morbidly we shun
His tender touch, – a cure for every ill.
He is the king of peace, when all is done.
Earth and the air are moulded to his will.

In loving memory of life ~


Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility

‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle

Victoria Kaloss

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. patpaints43
    Oct 17, 2016 @ 13:22:55

    Wow… what a beautiful, thoughtful piece. Thank you!


  2. Victoria Kaloss
    Oct 17, 2016 @ 13:56:06

    Thanks, Pat! I read this poem/sonnet and thought his meaning original. As I was heading out for a Memorial Service days earlier, I found comfort in his words. And the Memorial service reflected his sentiment in many ways.


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