Letter: Where to from here?, poet asks
TO THE EDITOR: (This was written Dec. 14, 2012)
Empty rooms, empty beds, empty pillows awaiting sleepy heads...
Never expecting there would not be another life moment between you and me
The likes of which,
For those who knew,
revealed the magic between me and you.
Not to have been given the physical choice
for one more time to hear your voice,
brings overwhelming grief, tears without end;
one cannot even begin to pretend
time will heal this gaping wound-
the simple truth, our world is ruined.
Each winter, spring, summer and fall
Seasons numbering close to thirty in all,
Learning, loving, holding dear,
Every changing tide, every blessed year.
Now, nothing will be the same
Has become our fear
and the question, unanswered, is
"Where to from here?"