Unable to die
are those we love;
their hearts beat
within our breasts,
their words escape
across the tongue,
and vanished faces
superimpose the hours
since the absence was begun.

Those souls released too soon,
hang by a silver cord
to mingle with the quick
until reunion's time has come,
and we give them back
their hearts and words,
to see them whole once more,
as the loves we once knew
this side of the Golden door.

02/15/2002

Posted on 02/15/2002
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce