She ached, not from the weight,
But from the absence of it.
The gentle waves of breath,
Rising and falling had ceased
And her arms had nothing
To pull in close…
She hung her head in
Unbearable unhappiness,
But it found nothing to kiss-
No soft fuzzy head,
So tiny wrinkly fingers,
No relaxed little hand.
She did not miss what was, but rather,
What could have been.
She was tired from what
She no longer carried
Exhausted from grieving
With no one offering to understand.
It had been,
what had felt,
like ages spent,
since I had knelt
before your gaze-
Though my soul had spent
thoughts of your ways,
prayers for your intent,
the habits of your days;
I was consumed till when,
in glorious healing,
my day began,
in a mixture of feeling,
holding your hand;
every marring
hopeful then
in God’s deep, caring
spiritual medicine
mended the memories,
repaired anxieties,
fused pure longings
into what they should have been
between our goodbye,
the separation,
and now- our
Hello, again.
sayloreblog 