Mark Zegarelli
Mark Zegarelli


A man stood just beyond death’s arched passage.

His life was now behind him.

He felt nothing but regret.

Why? he asked

Now that it is done

Why all the pain was I meant to suffer?

Why the heartache of lost love

And dreams that never real emerged?

Why the long days of work

And the long nights of worry

And the long, long years

Of watching youth turn into middle age

And then old age

And then no more?

And why the sadness and upheaval all around

In the lives of those I loved

And those they loved

And beyond these

Into the lives

Of all the myriad who ever lived?

Why a world so torn by trouble that even in death

My heart cannot be separated from the grief it gave?


No sooner had he asked these questions

than what appeared an angel now appeared.

So bright he stood

He might have been a star

At light years’ distance shining in the night

Though up close a mighty sun

Too bright for mortal sight.

He was but just a child

So innocent that all he knew

Was laughter and the trust of every moment.

And as the man gazed on this face

Into these gentle

Smiling eyes

He searched and felt his answers open him.


The faith you hard-won fought to plant and tend

Now you harvest here in this tiny sprout

Who starts his life with gifts of soul you earned

And now bequeath.

Such patience that you called upon

To pull you through

A thousand disappointments and delays

Now is his upon which to rely

Throughout his days.

The strength you daily summoned

To carry your waking self

Onward through seasons of sorrow and despair

Now serve this boy before maturity

Has even deemed to grow his muscles strong.

The full measure of wisdom you gained

While searching the barren landscape

For some small glint of truth

Rests now complete behind his brow.


Do you not see?

I do, he said

Though still he saw not




He felt the tie of loving fatherhood

Bind his heart to this beholden child

So that he wept with recognition

Born at once

Of joy at what he had begat

Yet still some inconsolable remorse

That he had been so blind to his creation.


Soon, though, as he watched

The child in all his light grew ever close

Till nothing separated lover from beloved

Still remnant of the sting of tears

The man’s eyes needed not to blink

But only stare in awe

As light bathed every corner of the sky

And chased away the dark.


Then he saw.


I am

He spoke

And knew that it was true

The only God that granteth life and light.