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.
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