As I arrive at the end of my life, knowing I shall not survive,
I am compelled to analyze the disappearance of our existence.
I am too lost to attempt to explain the spiritual;
It seems that feelings, now, are for the weak and sentimental.
Yet, here we stand, holding a hand across our breast;
as if hurled from a maelstrom of a woeful tempest.
Gazing into each other's eyes, we've arrived at the divide,
Between the rain showers, and the sun's torrid flames.
And, neither can command the sky, nor the tides;
For we all parallel between forgiveness and blame.
Perhaps, I've grown bitter, as I consider that
my heart's regard is that I owe fealty to no one.
For this story is not yet over; No, it has just begun.
Through the usual pain and suffering,
We cannot describe with words the ordinary imagery;
Like, all things must die, and thus, return to dust,
like any life devoid of sustenance, withers.
Indeed, the virtues of love are crucial, yet terrible;
And, are far more complex than any metaphor can deliver.
All of life is beautiful and ugly, it is both hellish and heavenly;
These opposing illusions create our everlasting reality.
And though, life's conclusion is truly horrible in it's finality;
My heart desires to express a measure of felicity.
I am not so cold or indifferent to deliver this message,
without a deliberate degree of concluding serenity.
For, in my mind, I know that our parting is not real,
And, true love only exists outside the confines of this world,
What we think and what we feel, are how we strive to define
the ribbons of emotion that naturally unfurl.
Here, on earth our insignificance is regrettably clear.
We are diminutive, absorbed beings spinning on a sphere;
And, there are exterior forces, far greater than you or me.
We shall all return to the Creator, eventually;
Void of the familiar chains of common mortality.
Far removed from the metaphysical explanations,
Love transcends into a light,
so pure and unconditional,
that is not easily explained,
though, many have tried, in vain.
As I leave, my soul will transcend
over the turbulent seas and pastoral planes;
And, if I had only one thought to leave you,
Know that I'd come home to you, again.
There are no further conclusions,
which I have not uttered or expressed;
For, in death,
we can no longer oppose one another,
but embody only the best.
©Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved
Image credit: “Lovers: Death and the Maiden” by Jaroslaw Datta