As my pain nears its time,
My mind wanders through memoir’s fog
Seeing the dreams long past
Like porcelain portraits,
A gallery of things lost.
Whilst my wanderings,
I notice several of the
Fragile photos are
Draped with white petals
Like first winter’s night;
As i watch the paintings
Unfold their silent scenes,
I see times of greater days
Spent with Her,
I watch as each work of art
Bears its own story,
Bringing me joy long forgotten,
Making me feel alive one last time,
Seeing Her again.
And now, as the angels grip my hand,
With promises of a better tomorrow,
I can see Her face again clearly
(so distinctly can I see Her radiant smile)
As She beckons me back to her side,
The only place I ever felt at home.
Awesome!
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