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Tears of Your Corpse.
There I stood watching
as he read his written sermon
and the door to your room left open
so all who bothered could take a peep
and say their greetings.
I walked up too,
it was all I could do,
not to take a peep but to bid farewell.
It was the best my love could afford and all it offered.
You stood still horizontally
But my lips would not be stopped.
I spoke like you were listening,
time offering me memories.
Memories of before now
when my love could do more,
when it could be sacrificed for you
but you spat in its face and said,
“Love is not the essence of man, what more can your love do?”
Today has brought me here with an answer:
“My love can also bid farewell.”
A tear came out your closed eyes,
You were listening after all.
Omg, tega. No poem on here
Omg, tega. No poem on here has ever touched me so much. I have seen these things in my nursing carreer. It is the closest one can get to experience our human connectedness. Working with comatose patients has been the most fullfilling gift of spiritual means I could have ever asked to have. Thanks for reminding me of my blessings.
......
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Thank you very much. Feels
Thank you very much. Feels good to know that I've helped reawaken such pleasant memories. Thank you.