Vanishing

( a Sonnet )    
   
   
   
   
   
A life, with its veneer of tears and pain
That shimmer from a season’s sun and rain,
No vicar with a St. James Bible verse
Will honor you a free ride in a hearse.

When by volition taking of one’s breath,
Thus causes bringing on of one’s own death.
The vantage point of this is fading fast
From cultures tightly clinging to the past.

A vacancy that’s vying to be filled,
A burial for every one that’s spilled,
Will come to pass with every desperate vow,
For nothing’s vulgar in the ways of how.

The vignette view’d by some that ‘spare the rod’,
And those who patient wait to be with God.