Monday, October 14, 2013

Adjusting the Lens

You can spot death a mile off and still be shocked when it arrives.
Not for yourself even, but for those you love.
You see them fading; time draws near.
But you will deny it to your first gaze into that open grave
And then some.
I like to pretend people are still with me; they are not gone.
Maybe it's not pretending; I don't know. It feels real as if they are standing right behind my shoulder but always turn when I do.
So I can never see them, but I know they are present. I feel the smiles, the watching; 
the silence is full of spirits wanting to be remembered.
My loved ones have gone but they will not let me forget.
I've put my foot down over the dimension line.
No white lights, just the blurring of sides.
We are already together, just not in fullness of being.
That's why it's called a "cloud" of witnesses.
I am seen, heard, felt by those who care for me
And I for them.
Existing in eternity,
Our fingertips still touch through the glass, darkly.

6 comments:

  1. Beautifully written!

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  2. "We are already together, just not in fullness of being." Love that!

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  3. I don't think it is pretending, either. Good for you, wise woman.

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  4. Thanks, Esther. I'm grateful for your understanding.

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