Irving Layton: The Graveyard

Lord, I understand the plan, the news is out:

I kill him, he kills me, change and change about,

And you ever in the right, and no wonder

Since it's no great matter who's up, who's under.

Teuton or Slav, Arab or suffering Jew -

Nature, Justice, God - they are all one to you.

The lion breeds the lamb and the antelope

As evil breeds good; darkness light; despair, hope.

And though your scheme confound theologians' wits

All come and go sired by the opposites;

And they decree: he who slays and he who's slain

Leave on your excellent world no crimson stain.

The tragic, warring creatures that here have breath

Are reconciled in the partnership of death;

And death's akin to art, and artists please

To the measure they have stilled the contraries.

Energy must crackle on a silent urn,

Nothing catch fire though Jerusalem burn,

And the lion poised on the poor bok to spring

Hold in his furious jaws no suffering.

Motion and rest, love and hate, heaven and hell

Here cease their Punch-and-Judy show: all is well.

There is no pain in the graveyard or the voice

whispering to the tombstones: "Rejoice, rejoice".