Through vision blurred,
I read the words
I never wanted to be written there,
as you stare back at me
with all your permanence.
Your newness stirs in me again,
the terrible truth of your existence,
enticing that lump
back up into my throat once more.
Fresh tears await being alone,
before allowing their free-fall
from the sad eyes of sorrow.
Lips withhold their quivering carefully,
choosing not to utter unfitting words
that might tumble out unwittingly.
Your shiny, cut features are beautiful,
yet represent the unbearable.
How is it you eye me so boldly,
when I regard you with such reluctance
Disbelief still accompanies me
to the place where you sit
anticipating a change of flowers.
Not even your quality stone,
can suspend the somber atmosphere
evoked by the void in my heart.
Time may lessen,
but never alleviate the wound
pronounced by your presence.
Though many others are at rest here,
for me, none compare to the one
whose life you commemorate. . .
whom your luster rightly represents.
Carole Conner Davis
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