Keith Bickerstaffe | + Follow Poet |
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The Splendor of the Stars

He crossed the room toward the door as evening fell, 
the daylight slowly fading and spilling on the floor 
     in pools of black. 
The child was still there on the stoop, mewling and 
wriggling in her basket, an urchin, so pathetic and alone, 
abandoned like a buried memory.
He took her in his arms and held her close;
his touch would bring her comfort
like a well-remembered song as he bathed her 
by the fire and dressed her warm.
The lovelight in her eyes, uncompromising, 
     took his breath away.
Older folks should live their lives this way,
invest their souls with such unwavering devotion
that there is no need for worry, or cause for anger,
just the pure and perfect eloquence of faith.

She took some nourishment and grew stronger;
the seasons waxed and waned and no one 
came to claim her, so they became sufficient 
to themselves, anticipating one another's wants 
     and needs.
Up on the the high ground they would wonder 
at the heavens as they strolled by waters 
shimmering in starlight, dazzling their eyes 
     to tears of happiness. 
Storms beset them, and still they bore it all 
like two creatures who have come to trust  
the power of their love.
Sunlight crossed to starlight, he grew sad 
     and incomplete. 
His mind left him, struggling and blind, 
as time drifted by like a slow and gentle stream.

She cared for him now, as he had cared for her 
so many years before, caressing his brow, 
bringing light to his dark eyes, and she wept quietly 
when her friend at last departed.

Alone she settled to her thoughts like a child 
wrapped in a blanket and slept, 
remembering his kindnesses and strength.
Finally she gave in to her loss, no longer able 
to endure the pain of grief. The Father blessed her, 
held her in his arms and re-united them, 
forever, in the splendor of the stars.

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2006

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