A Sermon for the Absent

After losing my pet rabbit as a child, I really missed him! A creature so small and quiet, yet his presence filled my life in a way I never fully realised until he was gone...

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I stood at the edge,

voice cracking with the weight of salvation,

and cried out to the wind about the softness of whiskers

and how even gentleness deserves resurrection.

He was a rabbit, yes,

but he was also a small god of quiet things,

his thump on the ground like a sacred rhythm

that once called the earth to bloom.

Now the clover wilts in the hush he left behind,

and I shout into the silence

as if fury could undo what death has claimed,

as if my belief alone could stitch the warmth back into his fur.

No one listens, not the leaves or the sky or the ghosts of other small creatures

who know too well the price of being tender in a world built for thunder.

But I keep preaching,

because his absence is a sermon that never ends.

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