A foggy day in . . .

What becomes of things we leave behind

As this road begins to climb and narrow

Leading us on to the above and beyond

We thought would forever be tomorrow

What becomes of possessions we’ve gained, professions we’ve made

Secret sins expertly hidden

And the weight of guilt we bore while we weren’t sure

If every sin is meant to be forgiven

What becomes of those we leave behind

Those we’ve known in life as brothers

Will they be aware that we’re still there

In the lives of our sisters, sons and daughters

What becomes of the songs you played

And the hearts where your music lingers

And the joy that came from the sounds you made

By your breath and through your fingers

What becomes of the burdens we were never meant to bear alone

And burdens shared out of our love for others

Now abandoned carelessly along the road

Prohibited from ever going any further

What becomes of words and tongues

Now unfit for adequately describing

The speechless state that communicates

Our utter joy upon arriving

Behold, I am making all things new.

(Revelation 21:5)

Gisli Brynjolffson

August 1, 1929 - March 23, 2017