Death, your stench 
is odious

Your putrid, rancid decay 
abysmal 

The wound you inflict…
The sorrow you leave behind…

There just aren’t words
For the ache within

For the tears that fall
unbidden

For the loss felt 
so deeply.

Only one who 
has known

Your rending, scorching 
touch

Can sympathize 
with another 

Who also feels
it

Whose own wound 
still bleeds

Only those who know
Will understand

The tears that come
From another’s sorrow

Only one who 
knows

Will find themselves 
weeping

For another’s grief
Another’s lament

Death, you are foreign
To God’s good creation 

What a comfort then
to know

Your days are 
numbered

Your days are 
short

You will not have the 
last word

For HE is the LORD
of death

It has been turned
back

He collects every 
tear

your wound 
inflicts

He has a comfort
for each

He has a joy eternal
for every one

Even as the tears fall
then

Heaven’s comfort finds us
and guides us to rest.