The Realist's Plea

Poem 23. Just one week left. Gentle reminder that I love your poetic responses (but I also just love you). Here, have a sonnet:

The Realist’s Plea
By Edith Hope Bishop, November 2015

I think no godly basket will collect,
the souls we’ve dared to cultivate.

Nor will some cosmic lottery select,
which spirits live and join the greats.

I can’t see us returned as trees,
nor soldiers brave, nor kindly priests.

Though some profess eternity,
it seems to me that all will cease.

What was whole will fall apart.
What was real will scatter.

Though we love with all our hearts,
None of this will matter.
 
Yet there is Peace in time’s demise,
And Peace in life, if we be wise.

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