These Are My JOTtings, Part #2

Respite

Moments resting 'tween workdays
help me free the slog
of weary muscles, that dismay,
making water, grog.

The anger toward a parent's death
shows sadness inside out.
The flowering of the bluish heath
on their old-age grave is stout.

These eight years now, Febrero's chill
hath taken Mom away.
The March, that took Dad from my will,
23 years display.

The ones I'd wished "to have, to hold"
all off-ramped Love's Turnpike,
but God's lone best has been pure gold
to heal each miss and strike.

Each dog and cat we loved for years,
that died and left us blue
are honored with our many tears
because their love was true.

Emotions need these poem forms
to lift up skyward, pain,
since, earthly hearts have never norms,
and heat brings often rains.

Whence respite 'fore th'eternal one?
Can earthly days know peace?
Not in the self, but in The Son,
Whose Mercy gives release.

by Jay O’Toole
on February 27th, 2025