Edge

It's at the edge of a world gone cold.
Birth and death joining hands, here, now.
One coming the other going, one joy
Another grieving and sorrow bound.
They are joined in their coming and going.
Whispered words, waiting, holding hands,
Encouraging words, waiting, holding hands
Then the quiet breaks with sound, hard.
It is just as the babe came down and then
Herod blew through destroying, ending.
It is not fair, it is not explainable, it is
The cycle which runs through us all.
Birth and death are neighbors to all.
And still somewhere in the quiet night
The angels sing, the people come,
And the world has a taste of peace.