Afterlife

Perhaps the friends of Lazarus, who died
and slipped his shroud, on seeing him might swoon
or rush to hear the tales of that beyond
they hoped and feared to face. Perhaps some cried
or shook and got themselves quite drunk by noon.
Or had the cynics laughed and only yawned?
And when he died again, did any weep?
Seeing you again across the room —
laughing you were free of loss or gloom
before the earth’s midnight — had made me keep
the night you asked me both to stay and leave
an anniversary of love and hate.
I thought I should observe my death that date.
I did, But now I know enough to grieve.

Royal Rhodes is a retired educator who taught courses on global religions for almost forty years. His poetry has been published widely in England, Scotland, Ireland, Canada, and the United States. He lives now in a rural village in central Ohio and enjoys contemplating the beauty of nature around him.