Tuesday, May 30, 2017

long journey home


your body rots
slow decay, turtle's pace
drinking tea & eating greens, your 
hands are lace-veined, brown-speckled by sun

your memories are rain-
dewed by past, lingering over photos-
fragrance of flowers bring you tears, phone calls
from your children and grandchildren livens your time

is this a blessing or curse
out-living your spouse, friends and siblings?
your aches, back and jaws 
are increasingly painful as years float, blur 

waiting
you are always 
waiting 
for that final blazing sunset

a gift, you'll then say 


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Wrap it in ribbons (Gifts) Poetics, hosted by Lillian ~ Thanks for the visit ~

25 comments:

  1. Such beautiful description. My mother outlived her son (he died at age 51) by many many years. And then my father was gone and she had about 18 years more. I understand this post very well through her aches and pains and longings. I was privileged to be at her side when she left this earth and, I hope, found them again.

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  2. Oh, this is so touching, Grace, and so true for many. I love the way you described hands as 'lace-veined, brown-speckled by sun', the phrase 'as years float', and the last lines:
    'waiting
    for that final blazing sunset

    a gift, you'll then say'.

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  3. This is a gift we never want to wish for... let it go gently into that night... no rage against the night

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  4. A beautiful write Grace, I can understand the gift she wishes for and the greatest gift we can give them is to let them know it is OK for them to go xxx

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  5. Both death and life could be seen as gifts. How we unwrap them may be what counts.

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  6. Such an evocative write, Grace. I agree this is one gift that none of us wish for.

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  7. I love the way this flows...as life, making it all worth it, in the end.

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  8. I think death can be a gift, if it is given and received by the Creator. Outliving your loves is so sad though. Your words capture the essence of aging

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  9. Not only did you paint a moment, you brought a feeling to life.

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  10. i want to pick a favorite line but line after line after line i am rendered speechless. such beautiful metaphors and depictions. and that closing line. wow.

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  11. Indeed...'final blazing sunset' is a true gift to many a soul...sigh..so beautifully written Grace....

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  12. This is so touching, Grace. It reminds me of my grandmother who outlived two of her children by nearly 50 years, and her husband by 30 years. When 'the authorities' decided she was too frail to look after herself in her own home, rather than be 'a burden' to the only child still living close by, she wrote letters to her children and grandchildren, went to bed and died. I don't know how she did it except through will power, but she made her own quiet sunset.

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  13. Sometimes death is a release indeed. Hopefully I don't have to wish for that any time soon.

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  14. This was very painful for me to read. My father reached the point of wishing for his final blazing sunset. He was my friend, my cheerleader, my confidant, my rock. When he reached his sunset, the loss was mine, the victory his.

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  15. You framed this very well, Grace. Enjoy the rest of your week.

    Elsie

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  16. My goodness--our minds were in similar places, investigating gifting on a spiritual level; good on us. Your last stanza is killer.

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  17. So many beautiful images here, and I agree with Glenn. The last stanza is killer.

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  18. The details make this pop for me, the eating greens, the lace-veined hands, the aching back and jaw. A very poignant and relatatable poem.

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  19. Merciful Death
    Living Wisdom
    of Grace
    Living
    Breath
    Dying exhale..:)

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  20. Release from pain, heartache and a return to our Father can make even death...a gift. You painted this portrait with beautiful clarity.

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  21. An amazing poem. It really shows how it would be to outlive your loved ones, it's indeed a curse and a gift!

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  22. oh profound....the feelings about gifts change...and that last gift holds mystery!

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  23. You've eloquently articulated one of life's eternal questions ... the answer to which, is as elusive and ever-changing, as shifting sands.

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