Lynn W. Petty
No Monarch, She - Poem by Lynn W. Petty
No monarch she, though regal does she lie.
The pillows tucked beneath her silvered hair.
Her wrinkled face indicative of life
Well lived, who met the challenge of the years.
Her countenance a sculpture worn by time.
Through age, her youth-like beauty could be seen,
The child of yesterday, impatient with her
Aged frame, restricted by its use,
Afraid to cut the cord of this sojourn.
I passed before her. Now, her time had come.
I stood behind the screen of life and death,
That veil that separates all time and space,
Life's dream, from spiritual reality.
I stepped to elbow's side, and kissed her brow.
Her breathing, slowed by age and her decease.
She lifted up her palsied arm and laid
Her youthful hand in mine. She leapt into
My firm embrace, we crossed the span of Now.
Her human cloak, of flesh and blood, lay still.
Past-darkened shades of memory we saw,
Revealed, our purpose in this sacred scheme.
The setting sun had haloed her dark hair.
Tender loving warmth had filled her eyes,
"Alone, my own, alone for rest of time."
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