Other folk in other times
Relied on religion to ease their sorrow
Believing in a holy tomorrow
Where angels sang unending hymns
And reunions with the departed dead
Were commonplace. No angels sing
In the quiet I imagine; no ring
Of bells. Silent repose ahead
Is all I see in my mind’s eye.
No apostle-managed gate
With one door sheep and one door goat
No joyous harps playing for me.
Empty dark is what I fear
Waits for me, starless and cold,
Un-mooned, a place of frost and mold—
Is this the void that swallowed her?
The Blessed at the gate to heaven with St. Peter -- Hans Memling