I Could Not Find The Poetry

The first thing we do when someone dies

Is look for the poetry

Signs they had left behind

Flocks of birds taking flight

The pattern of the stars in the night sky

Evidence of the end approaching... 

We weave these together into a tapestry

To drape over our shoulders 

Hide the mortal wounds that expose us

Spin salt and blood into something golden

I believe God can speak... and He walks with me

There's no doubt in my heart He is real

But when He took you away

On a bland, uneventful day, 

I could not find the poetry.