by The Highland Shepherd's

THE ALCHEMY

Whatever Easter meant in decades past
(I can’t recall exactly). Victory!
In my youth, death was not allowed to last!
The upward path of life’s trajectory
promised other goods: the future mortgaged;
the suburbs burst with sound where children played
wartime hopes revived, removed from storage.
On every corner, church foundations laid.
No Good Friday here, (kill was overseas)
Until we, too, began the downward slide;
until the effort brought us to our knees
until unwanted forces struck blind side.
Then Easter showed itself our remedy;
of deepest failure, death - the alchemy.

Poems from the Eighth Decade
Copyright © Harold Macdonald 2004 used with permission

Harold Macdonald Poetry