chapter 16, a zenith before the
penny drop - the slight of hand
before the clash;
a clatter and fields of copper leaves
plummet into the depths of
our aching hearts,
smoldering in golden fires of youth.
dying is beautiful.
reality streams in her lonely starved
veins, energy manufactured in some
core of incomprehensionable tenderness,
and "thank you" cannot cover their sacrifice,
wounds will be left bleeding in the wake
of this climax.
for she has such grace that Jesus would gather
roses for her to feed, but autumn falls,
speech fades to limping poetry,
and the sun may rise again,
but not in afterlife.
dying is beautiful,
and she is Aphrodite
in a sea of
ten thousand darkened suns.
