a dream was born of love
like a flower, budding in the field of time
it swelled, spread its petals
shared its perfume with complete abandon
smiled under the sun’s kisses
was tossed by many a foul storm
surviving almost a century
of spinning orbits around its bright star
“It never ends!” she exclaimed, exuberant,
just a few breaths before her last exhale,
before she abandoned our solar lover
and melted into the arms of
our eternal Beloved
a dream died
yet the love, the love remains,
and always beyond the reach of memory
A little memorial piece. It’s been four years today … by the day rather than date.
(How beautiful that this year’s remembrance falls within the Easter weekend.)
I remain amazed and more grateful with every passing year for that final teaching:
IT NEVER ENDS
what is it that follows me wherever I go?
Image source unknown
Very beautiful! Thank you.
Thank you for your kind comment Amrita. Bless.
If this were not poetry, it would still be sublime… but it is poetry, so twice sublime. What makes it so is Love, that unfathomable, unmeasurable quantity, when expressed with the right accent and measure,
Dear Alberto – your comment is equally sublime. I marvel at the resonance; and I bow in appreciation.
It is a total mystery to me how this Love expresses itself – I only know I can take no credit for it whatsoever.
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