Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
911,
Whats your emergency?
The world as we knew it ended,
And we are still picking up the pieces
And will be,
Indefinitely,
From the impact and blowback,
For years into the future,
And for somethings we won’t
Even be sure why,
Though we will remember,
In our lived history;
Memory survives.
A white feather,
From one of my ventures,
Resides on my vehicle dashboard,
The air through my windows on a hot day
Lifted and carried the feather
In flight,
As such things are meant to;
Scurrying to recapture my feather,
I am reminded
It was never mine,
It never grew from my body,
And yet now I hold to it
As if it were a part of me,
In a way, it is,
The remembrance of its coming to be with me,
And the miles,
Moments,
Mishaps and memories
I also collected with it present;
The feather,
Worn but white,
is a symbol
Of what I have been through,
Carried by the wind,
To always make a landing,
With grace,
Wherever I may descend.
Night is falling in too soon,
Suddenly,
Too soon,
The wind abruptly lifted from our lungs as we watch,
And recognize,
Too soon,
The good and sweet we recall of you,
Knowing this is too soon,
For the life that is yours to be removed from ours,
Tears they fall,
Or tears they stall,
As disbelief sets in,
We look to the great beyond
Wondering what resides there,
For you,
For each of us,
Demanding why,
Of Spirit we still long to know,
Long to understand,
If there is a why in the divine,
And what that is,
We demand to know,
For why do the sweet, the young, the innocent, the good need to go,
And in unideal manners,
And why should and do the good die young,
This is penance for those who remain,
To watch as you go,
We cry,
As weeping bodies,
Our sacrificial gift for one we love,
You are slipping into the greater existence now,
in and around us
Joining with spirit,
We will mourn your corporeal existence,
But aim to know you on an entirely new plane,
Just as you will come to be,
May we know you more,
In memory,
Then we ever imagined of possibility.
If you forget,
Perhaps because right now
You are not meant to remember.
She of Letters 