Terminal

 

It is terminal…

The words lingered

As her eyes wavered

At the acceptance

Of such a sentence.

The heart stilled -

And for a moment filled

With the ponderous weight

Of final, of eventual. It is late.

At the terminal stop of await.

She is a beautiful fragile vase

Life is rampant in that lovely face

And her grace is her space

A gift to the crest fallen at her state.

We sit, laugh and toast against life’s fate.

We bid farewell - until we meet again.

Yet, that word terminal echoes its fain.

Shall we wait at the station

Arrival and wonder if damnation

Or run to the departure gate and redemption.