When Necessity comes, it is best to simply bring out the fresh linen and welcome her as best you can.

I had hoped, however, to make one last prayer at his altar,

Just one last exultation in praise of his beauty and benevolence

Yet she comes, and it seems too soon;

Always too soon.

The inexorable rush of the River current.

And so my altar remains barren –

The brazier is empty, no sweet incense rising, carrying my prayers and praises, bathing the temple with their fragrance

The candles are unlit, no light to keep the darkness of death at bay

His image is veiled, covered in a black shroud, all opportunities lost to catch glimpses of that enigmatic smile on that beautiful face

And so we lament – My god is dead!

And so we cry out – My god is dead!

And so we rend our hair and beat our breast – My god is dead!

My god is dead

My god is dead

MY GOD IS DEAD

Even the land cries out, the heavens rent as the rain falls down

And though these tears bring healing and life to the earth, they are no less painful in the shedding

There will be a new dawning, a new day of celebration

But it is not this day.

On this day we mourn.

— Jay Logan (2015) ©