Pete Simon

For a heart
That beats until
The world has killed it
And leaves it still
May good will possess it

That the afterlife
Might be unlike
This ceaseless, violent strife
Too tired, a hand, to hold a knife
Too lovely a sight to close our eyes
May heavy lids be lifted wide
That we may gaze upon the light

For all things beautiful
Marking paths through trials
Leading to full promise
Reminds of truths beyond this
Steals from unbecoming fate
The voice amid dead silence.