by Robin Loving

Created on: September 16, 2009   Last Updated: December 31, 2011

The Light


The fabric of her spirit
Tears like ancient lace
The cracked, meandering riverbeds
Fill with tears on her pale, weathered face.

Her eyes once so full of glitter
Have dimmed, like a ballroom floor
Where lovers embrace in the shadows
And others make haste for the door.

All of the world's magic potions
Have done little to ease the pain.
And loved-one's whispered devotions
Repeated again, and again...

Have also failed to reach her.
She is somewhere between 'here' and 'there'...
Her hand feels limp and leathery.
Sweat, sculpts her wavy gray hair.

She only has eyes for the tunnel.
She only has eyes for 'The Light'.
I'm afraid to let go of her hand now...
Afraid this will be our last night.

And I am not through with my whispers.

I am not ready to leave.

I search her eyes for the glitter

I am not ready to grieve.

She has her eyes on the tunnel
She is walking toward 'The Light'.
I need to let go of her hand now...
And kiss her sweet forehead, goodnight.

Learn more about this author, Robin Loving.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.