When weddings and divorce,
High honors and engagements,
Arrivals, deaths and other moving experiences,
Cannot be mentioned,
Much less noted or grieved
Shared or celebrated
In anything more than isolation.
Sequestered yet a part.
When body and blood
Cannot bridge an abyss
Such as this to eat,
Drink and commune,
Spirit is all that is left
To remember and believe
In gifts received,
And grace extended.
When outer entry doors
Are closed and barred
And shuttered windows
Block what light remains
Then memories kept inside
Glow in the dark alone
As death and Alzheimer’s
Grow pale in comparison.
When the distance
From all that is life
Becomes too great
For truth to flourish
And grace to grow
While we yet have choice
Where else is there
To go, but You?
11 comments:
He stopped loving her, today...
That is not who you think it is Sixty.
The gulf is too wide for it to be this pair but that's as close as I can get without a hint. MrM is no help.
The shirt is almost as much of a wonder as the face. Estrangeness abounds.
The best and strangest part of that poem is that we can all take it personally.
Must be tough for him. Tough for the family, but tough for him, to know it.
Poor Soupy.
Well, you made me take a look at the picture instead of just glancing at it.
I have no idea who either of those people are.
Like.
Is that Tab Hunter in his final days?
The woman is the way that Applegate hussy on Married With Children is going to end up looking.
Hussy is one of the GREAT words.
That is Batman and Catwoman.
I know. Right?
Whoa.
Without hearing him I would never know.
She can still put on a cat suit and prowl around here all she wants.
But back to the poem - MamaM is the best poet you have ever posted here.
Yep, that's right.
That was nice, all the way around, including the photo addition. I disbelieved the host at first with regard to ID, but they appear to have made the rounds.
It's an honor to be included with the butchered bukowski's that show up every now and then missing vital parts.
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