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.
