| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Emotional >> ID #1820437 |
| |||||||||||||
|
“The nursery with baby toys hidden
our many years of loneliness today, with sleepless nights the yesterday's my wife and I deciding maybe pregnant, waking with the dream holding our hands scaling cliffs together in high hollow winds, proud of her conquering charms and beauty she floats amid silken sheets pale blue crying, remembering the sad days without baring a child. Death is a personal journey that I face without fear believing in my Savior seeing my life flash before me, I was alive yet dead in a pathway never meant for this striking a balance between my thoughts and a will to live. Diagnosed with cancer the unknown that lies ahead in pain the mental state of discovery as my body begins to slow down. There are milestones on this journey where I feel the grandeur within, a unique way while posing questions with queries of this disorientation, like concrete that always sets in stone, my feelings within being invincible. I’m the pensioner, my body chemistry producing a mild sense of euphoria, a physical departure floating in my mind, where am I holding her hands our romance under dim lights soft the music, touching my wife’s lips, proposing marriage in the fall with leaves on a carpet of green. Nurse, please call the doctor I’m speaking to myself again, It’s as if a veil is being lifted between my life and God, who promised he would be there in time of need, just before I pass on holding her tight to me.” “Doctor, why is my husband weeping, trying to rise out of the bed again talking to me with his eyes closed?” “In my experience his eyes will open without always seeing his surroundings, so try listening holdings hands in prayer.” “Yes! He did mention seeing me with angels singing favorite hymns with gospel music, the body of Christ dying for your soul by grace the vehicle of eternal love. Years later in the darkness of my room, I felt tears on my pillow too ashamed to cry why we never had children to comfort us in love, those years of loneliness he blamed upon himself.”
© Copyright 2011 embe (UN: embe at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
embe has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |