Terminal - Final
“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 ponderous weight
Of the final; of the 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 crestfallen at her state.
We sit, we laugh and toast against life’s fate.
We bid farewell - until we meet again.
Yet, that word, terminal rumbles its fain!
Shall we wait at the station
Arrival and wonder if damnation?
Or run to the departure gate carrying hopes of redemption.
At the window’s ledge high above
Heaven’s vestibule sits a white dove
Calling home lost souls and spirits of love.
Many have come and gone through this place
Where young and old wait in pain or grace
For a last-second of song or prayer
To save one more breath; one last sayer
Before the departure reaches time.
Ahh! Anne’s beautiful eyes find eternal rhyme!
While we travelers – we must cross the same terminal line.
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