A returning

A returning
 
Time to go home, I pray; time to go
where there is no time and, perhaps,
 
no imaginable sort of home. 
This dream of creation
 
is fraying at the edges, bursting at the seams. 
Even the Perfect Ones Who we faithfully entreat
 
for comfort and aid are not free
from human fates and frailties –
 
the sorrow, illness, pain and death of this realm,
each One dutifully bound to return, per schedule,
 
to where it all begins . . . ends and begins again.
Round and round, up and down –
 
a returning, always a returning,
to what must be (we surmise) a perfect stillness,
 
an unassailable serenity, an eternal slumber
in a realm where time dares not enter.
 
O child of God, you have no choice
but to trust the benevolence of your Creator.