I often lose patience with the impending apocalypse and tell it to shit or get off the pot. There has always been a door swinging ajar in the breeze, between this world and the next, through which many dear souls have fallen. Much to my seeming demise, I sometimes find myself as alone as when I entered this existence, to battle the demons of my own concoction.
There is no one as eternal as everyone. The destruction of my life will seek refuge in the next, mending the wounds inflicted upon the soft armor of my soul in interim heaven, until I am ready to forego my wings and tread once again amongst mankind.
One night while waiting for Kelley to come home, I was sitting in the back yard and writing. I heard a terrible car accident on the main road leading into our neighborhood. This is the poem I wrote later that evening.
Many sirens howling
in one moment
then suddenly stop
more follow in the next
I hear her voice.
Thank God she is home.
For if it were her
who met with the tragedy
befallen upon by some other
my heart would spiral and fall
destined to rupture.
I pray for whoever
loved the person for whom
the sirens responded
the same prayer
I hope you
would say for me.
By God
It will be all right
there is no wound
you cannot heal
there is no death
that separates lovers
not time, space or confusion.
You will grow old together
if not in this life
then in another
when their eyes
will turn the corner
lifting the veil
igniting memory
in the smallest of ways
your heart will sing
beyond choirs you can comprehend
the cycle will start
as if it never had quelled
A light in the blackness
will assure you of this.
The kiss that consumed
will resume.
At least in your eyes
at least in your thoughts
at least in the time
given on this orb
I wish you
the illusion of solace
until the dance of eternals
finds you swept
by the arms
of the love
too soon removed.
I thank you, as always, for reading.
All my love,
Max
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