Souls Perish

I understand that heaven is the place
For you. You sing hosannas to the Lord,
Give generously what you can afford,
Implore me to accept this Holy Grace
I’m so determined to ignore. Your face
Shines with the Light of Glory, and a horde
Of worshipers warns me what I’ve ignored:
Souls perish, and they leave behind no trace.

I can’t keep track of every falling bird,
Not even when they tumble by the nestful.
Your attitude is spirited and zestful,
But maybe spirit isn’t the right word
For what I need. I know it sounds absurd,
But this “eternal sleep” sounds rather restful.