When the last candles smoldered on the funeral eve,
And no echo of condolence rippled midnight silence,
I rose in scented darkness and took my leave.
December met me at the church’s door and raised my eyes
To nebulae shining where ends precede beginnings,
To myriad galaxies’ solemn surprise –
Slender arms of azure light offering grace,
Charming me, coaxing me, enfolding me with,
Not drear solace, but star-frosted embrace,
An unspoken message from the deeps of time
To lift my grief and sketch final symmetry –
That death is not love’s end but merely its rhyme.
Robert Walton is a writer, educator, and poet living in California.
Featured Image: “The Bay of Naples at Moonlit Night” by Ivan Aivazovsky (1817-1900)
Touching, beautiful and true
Thanks, Bruce. I sometimes reach something worth sharing if I keep working long enough.
Really nice poem, leaving the funeral, feeling so sad and broken, then seeing the azure lights and knowing that your loss was all part of the cycle of love.
Thanks, Joan. I appreciate your taking the time to comment on my poem. I suspect we’re part of a design that is greater and more benign than we suppose – and also less safe. Writing helps me glimpse it now and then.