The Beautiful Never Go Far
It often takes a death
to create the noble sense
to stand still, to listen and observe
the glad and fearful story.
And so you do, you stop
and notice the day is clear as gin
and you’re alive not because
you’ve been living right
(you know better than that)
but rather because you’re alive.
And so you vow to write
more letters, to try to have some
style even if you fail, and to care about
something well done.
And so you stand on that ginny day
in your uninnocent feet with
a green wind out of the north,
miles away from an old friend’s grave
worrying and worrying the hope that
(as Hugo, inspired, put it)
the beautiful never go far.
I’ve been awake since 2 a.m. struggling with the soon to be death of my dearest friend. She is beautiful and will never go far (from me). Thank you, John, for so often voicing perfectly what God lays on my heart.
Thank you, Christine.
Lovely.
Thanks, Annie.
Sorrow with hope. “The beautiful never go far…” thank you for this.
Hi, Lisa. Thanks for your comment.
FRIEND JOHN â
In the way that such things work in the Way of the world, the Way that keeps going on around us while you and I seek to catch a glimpse of it from time to time, your poem came the day after I lost a dear friend. The poem is wise and beautiful and true, and I thank you for it. If you do not mind, I will share it with my friends who loved him.
R.
Certainly, Robert. Thanks, and I am sorry to hear about your dear friend.
How is it that true words written and shared or simply shared can rip the shrink-wrap binding my soul so beautifully? Thank you, John.
Hi, Jacky. I’m grateful the words struck a chord, or two. Thank you!
This is a bright stab to capture that “ginny” feeling–that sense of the “quick” and alive. Thank you.