Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Dancing With Death

Her husband is doing his final dance;
There's nothing more that we can do.
We've laughed, cried, worked and prayed;
In their places waiting grew.

Waiting for him to breathe his last,
Waiting for all their folks to leave,
Waiting for the empty to descend,
Waiting for her pain to proceed.

My every moment is a misery,
Because I fear that what awaits
Is a deep dark night of her soul
When she can no longer touch her mate.

When she feels her blood is pumping
With only half of her heart,
And she will perhaps come to feel
That she is literally torn apart.

When her skin will sometimes seem too big,
And other times stretched to breaking.
The only thing worse than the love that is lost
Is the regret if it never was taken.