Pressed Flowers

You

were there,

constant

and

faithful

like

Night follows Day

and

Day follows Night,

until

You

followed

the

greater light

of love

to

eternal

shimmering stars.

You

were a light

like

the coral glow

of the Sun

that pierces

the onyx veil

of the

slumbering sky,

until

You

slipped beyond

the curtain

of life and death

to sleep

in peace,

immortal.

You

were there,

holding my hand

as we traversed

the stoney path

of life,

lending an arm

as a

steady brace

against

the steep ascent

of the trail

dashed by

scattered boulders;

remnants

of life’s landslides

that would

cause some

to turn back

and give up,

until

You

de-parted

at the

Y

— at the mark,

to journey

beyond

the dust and ash

of earthen foundations

and their boundaries.

You

were there,

butting up

against

my best and worst,

like bookends

as

we balanced

the all

of our story

between one another;

between

the

Me and the You

My beginning

always

found its end

in

you

and

you

echoed

the all

of my essence,

held

within

the strength

of

your substance,

until

You

let go

and

the volumes of our life

collapsed

upon one another

and the weight

of your absence

crushed my heart

like a delicate

flower’s petals

P r E s S e D

between the

ink and words

that spoke of us;

the same inked

memories

that

p

a

r

c

h

e

d

m

y

s

o

u

l

,

e

m

p

t

i

e

d

of

every last tear;

drying me

in an eternal state

of withering away;

still present

among the living,

but

fragile

to the slightest touch,

movement,

even

to the

breath of life,

itself.

Viewing

the world,

askew,

from

blurred,

tear-filmed eyes;

like wax paper windows

holding my fragile

being

together

just as the

momentos

of funeral sprays

that smell

of

sickening, sweet

decay;

I

am caught

between

the thin wax sheets

of the

before

and

after

YOU.

Like bookends.

You

captured

every word

that I spoke,

jotting it,

eternally,

upon the pages

of your mind,

until

You

slipped

from the grasp

of life;

the quill

that wrote your story

floated, aloft,

upon

the

breath

of the Angels

as

You

found sanctuary

within

the secret place

of dwelling,

tucked against

the wings

of

The Angel of the Lord,

ETERNAL BOOK ENDS

where

the final chapter

drew to a close

and our story

found

its

end.

Now,

all that remains

of

YOU

are the

fading scents,

pictures,

objects,

and memories;

recollected

and held tightly

to avoid

the inevitable

slow-fading

as time washes

over

the rock of my heart;

a heart set firm

to hold

all of

YOU

within me

for always,

yet,

as time flows

against my will,

cascading

upon my resolve,

it wears away

the jagged and raw edges

of the grief

found

at the end

of the tale

that was

ours.

Every tear

that tumbles

across

the stone,

etched

with two dates

upon it

and

separated

by

the

- hyphen -

of your life,

softens

the memories

and smooths

the ragged,

piercing quartz

to

polished marble;

glimmering;

embodying

the

reflection

in my

eyes

of

YOU.

and the cold stone

of your tomb

holds

the end

as the

memorial stone

of my heart

holds

the beginning

of

life

without

YOU

like

MARBLE BOOKENDS

atop

the mantle

of my hearth.