As it will


Worried he’d die,
hoping he would,
angry he might,
sad he could,
confused he had,
thinking he should—
tired, so very, very tired.
We are made from
chaos, regret and guilt;
why/why/why, we ask,
but does that really matter?

We are so very, very
we very human humans,
and ought as naught
we stay awake to hear the murmurs
’til the dawn comes ’round again.
Thus they melt, one to the other,
next and next, until that day
by the hospital bed when it all focuses in,
even easier than it had once slipped away.
Let it go—you are,
that’s enough, let it go,
just breathe.
Hear that?


Thank you for reading As it will. I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain, and as always, I look forward to your comments.

The photograph was taken from the rim of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. For more photography, please visit the Book of Bokeh.


Photograph, poem and notes © 2014 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2014 by John Etheridge, The photograph is not licensed for use or reproduction in any way, unless so granted in writing by the copyright owner.


Filed under Poetry

3 responses to “As it will

  1. “you are” …I interpret this as living their life with that person in this moment
    very important spiritual counsel to all loved ones

    • And you’d be right. Live in the moment, the moment is sufficient unto us. Trying to withstand the complex barrage of feelings, emotions and worries that can bombard you in the heat of a tragedy is nearly impossible, so retreat into just the moment. And while there, breathe, just breathe, just listen to it going in and out. Let the cares rage and swirl away, around you now, not inside, wreaking havoc. It will be as it will.

  2. Amy

    Indeed. When I was standing over the hospital bed watching… I thought part of me was dying.