Dear Miracle

Setting free the beautiful truth inside.

Tending the Roses of God

2 Comments


therosesofgod2

My mother, light as paper, stands,

folds, crumples to the floor.

Yellowed parchment skin inked in

purple orbs and reddened tears, evidence

of failed attempts to hold on.

Her feathery body sleeps heavy

against knocks at her door, barely knows

anymore the call of her name.

She does not stir as I press my lips to her cheek,

my love into her heart,

stroke her hair or feet, wondering where she goes

when she sleeps.

Is she walking somewhere in light-filled fields of gold?

Is she speaking in hushed tones with dear ones passed on?

Is she tending the roses of God?

Will someone tell me please?

I want to know if when she awakes,

something of her stays behind in that world

and waits

for her to come home.

© 2013 ~ S. Wolfington

 

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Author: dearmiracle

The hardest thing you will ever do is tell yourself the truth. This is about that. Vulnerability, becoming comfortable with ambiguity and answers that don't always arrive when we think they should. Living in that liminal space, a threshold of not always knowing becomes a sweet spot, a place of opening again and again.

2 thoughts on “Tending the Roses of God

  1. Then I’ve succeeded. Thank you, Tom.

    Like

  2. Congratulations, you hit this one out of the park. So well put in verse, I feel your empathy, you capure it in print so magnificently.

    Like

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