Poetry: Remembering A Beloved Sister

Such a bad scare I had of it 

When neither satisfied as making a living
Nor any close to turning the expected life.
One day, I summed one and two
Of my honest concerns;
And strode right up to the Oracle.
Making strange signs,
And speaking strange words, the Diviner,
Gazing into 'A dust-freckled wooden crystal-ball'
Wrestled a few throws of Opele
Scrying to unravel my mindful petitions.
Eager my arch-tormentors are now to be unmasked, but first,
Rather he sees and warns, redeemable though, 
Of ailing and dying kin.
Immediately, who that was I did know:: my beloved sister.
She's been down ill for all I know.
But I was too self-immersed to sense the hint of the peril afoot.
Sadly, the urgent calls for redemptive intervention 
Was no Music to my ears.
Now torn, intriguingly, between two distressed worlds
Of self and a blood sister
Now walking through the valley
Of the shadow of death.

And there were rising voices of considerating reasoning;

To which my selfish counsel's great murmur countered.
When neither in ruin nor ill;
Only a misplaced figure in my existential estimations.
While I twist and turn abashed with hesitant rasps,
Suddenly, news of her death came finally.
How I grief of her dying young foretold 
Being the first of the children of my father to;
And even more from the flagellation of self-guilt.
For much of the time playing procrastination's own fiddle 
And wishing evil and trouble away.

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