The Final Poem

Is this the last good-bye, the closing, final door on life so dearly treasured? I have loved the art of words, crafting them, linking them, pearls on strings like jeweler's cord, but I will write no more, no longer tell the tales of life, of love, betrayal, loss, or sing of family happiness and friends, or speak nature's piercing beauty stirring the soul of me, no longer feel emotion stirring the depths, breaking, cresting on the inner sea, precious waves, all that I have felt and heard and tasted, the nectar of a thousand fruits. Good-bye, dear muse, you who have kept my heart sweet company; you go your way. My way has been chosen, not by me; I acquiesce. Until the last lifting of my breast, I listen with my heart, repeating words that live there still. When the dark sod covers and loved ones stay to weep, in a pregnant pause sensing what death can never keep - the flash of spirit wings rising up to God. Copyright, August 29,2015 Faye Lanham Gibson