Look into my face, can you see?
The sketches of my past
smiles and frowns etched with age
marks of honor, sun-baked.
Look into my eyes, can you see?
A reflection of yourself?
Glinting shadows sparkle and fade
To soften the hard edge life of late
Read between the lines of living
on the cusp of heaven, grow wings.
Ease, peace, please, appease.
Muster courage, move to light
Hand holding tight.
Look into my face, can you see
You?
Photo credit: Swiss Alps by Ilze Haynes (C) 2019
I gave away my feathers to a wounded bird, mid-flight
She fondled in her fingers and gazed at colours bright.
Both of us now cold, I wandered down the pale pink hall
Warmed by hands and hearts – reciting heaven, gold, gems and all.
With bravery I wore a cross-shaped medal I didn’t earn
A signed and sealed commission of men has joined the funeral burn.
Though many think the flow of blood is death, despair and strife
I know for sure it’s freedom from guilt and our eternal life.
The darkness that I wear will not do for wedding ball
Patiently, I changed the feathers for a pure white shawl.
I’d lost the people I loved. In the midst of the daily decisions and jaw-clenching nightly invocation, all the notable ones were scarce and silent. Anger, sadness, and pain rolled around my vital organs and stuttered my speech meditating on thoughts of misdeeds and words misspoken that persisted in my mind. Here lies life, the new day begets another. This solemn song is sung in chorus in palliative waiting rooms, tall stories forgotten and oft-loved ones replaced by diagnostic faces – with wry, stale smiles. A hand lies upon them, hemmed in front and behind, an eye for an ego, release in freedom lie.
Count the stars of heaven 