This week, death played its harp in my mind almost every hour. I wore black for a man I did not know, felt a part of my heart lift at singing "How Great Thou Art", and prayed prayed prayed for a family trying to cope with the news they were warned about a year prior.
We are no longer living in a careless July. This is September, a time for leaving foolishness under the stairs and caring for what the eyes cannot see. Is it feasible to survive pain together? To bond, though our stories and memories chase other goals and may never end up straight and pure?
Your eyes were an empty shell. You told me you had to keep wandering, always wandering, because if you stopped to stare up at the cross, to hear the bells commemorate a life you adored, you would
falter
and Sunshine would be too distant to reach.
There were no paling pink roses in a vase, on the altar. There were sunflowers, whispering false dreams to death in the shadows.
I wonder if there is a pathway to Heaven? How a soul is carried above the clouds and if angels are pallbearers with pretty wings or if Christ Himself is the gentle shepherd.
Now, I drive under cumulus clouds 6,000 feet below, asking myself if I am witnessing someone passing. If angels are gathering their trumpets and music sheets to sound someone into Heaven.
I wonder, if it's misery or a blessing.
-
Written 9/05/14 @ 11:43 AM
Prompts from Saffie's Number Game:
1)
whisper
false dreams
July
Death in the shadows
survived the pain together
what the eyes cant see
and
2)
pathway
under the stairs
empty shell
pretty wings
(insert colour) rose in a vase
