Reproaching the Raven Eating the Squirrel

I stand by the side of the road,
Find myself reproaching the raven
Tearing apart the road-kill squirrel,
Feasting upon its entrails cast into the dirt,
While I stand there trying to explain to myself
Why life must end….
 
Do I hold deep inside my heart
Aversion to reality, like some child
Who buries head in the pillow,
Refuses to accept unpleasantness of winter?
Do I lack manly courage to stare down Death?
Can’t I steady the gun and pull trigger,
Bring down the six-pointed buck, and feel proud,
Love the blood that flows from the steak?
 
What is so sad at loss of beauty?  So what
If young buck never leaps through glade again?
Brave and hard is the soul that is able to face
Unpleasantness, to let events unfold as they must,
Watching as God must watch, never reproaching Himself
When infant is seized by white business of cancer.
I cry genuine tears, I curse the Creator, I scream
Pacing vacant rooms at night, see nothing
But empty clouds shedding snow from great height.
 
I am foolish and incompetent, want to instruct God
On how to make the world ideal— make ants less greedy,
Invent bees and wasps that fail to sting,
Fashion lions as vegetarians— always the critic,
Always the one who believes that Heaven
Should listen to the pleas of the dying.
 
I want to shut my eyes to God and
Make Love my god, caught as I am in the web,
Unable to hear the celestial music or be wise,
Not feel sad when I look up, watch the trees lose their leaves.
Must I pray to be at ease with Death, reconcile myself
To love inevitable forms of anguished endings?
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