Death Is Not a Loss

The creaking of old hard wood floors Flowers, weary with wet petals stuck to the pot The absence of dogs barking and cats purring is almost unbearable My own thoughts ticking by The familiar smell of food does not waft There are no lights on Just dust Dust on the chair, the tv, and even my favorite picture on the wall. The house, almost empty but the language on the walls speak, calling out memories The presence of her comes close Presence. Here I am. In this place I am... I once had a dream, A dream of sunshine moments and cold lemonade The dust is now clearing as pictures become bright Past becomes present and the roads of memories end at the horizon where I also end, Seeping into the cold dark couch In this sea of comfort it is an expression of love for death is not a loss, but past memories of life.