Psychopomp - Poem by Ruth Walters
I've been here before but I don't remember it clearly.
The traffic lights changed from amber to red too quickly again.
I recall my Psychopomp but she isn't here yet to guide me.
She'll have angel eyes and a soothing voice.
There's supposed to be a bright light but it's still dark,
a thick blackness surrounds me but no souls yet.
There's a neutral kind of warmth, not cold, not hot,
and I've left my body on the mortuary table.
I can still see it, it looks pathetic, weak and cumbersome.
I giggle in relief, feeling unfettered from earthly things
and wait for the voices to sing me to my sleep,
those hours of peace before I'm reunited with the collective.
I'm an old soul and have made this journey many times.
Ah, here she comes now, my own special angel, calling me.
I recognise her and she holds out her hand to me.
It's a broad, plump, capable hand, reliable and warm.
They come for you, non-judgemental, make you feel safe,
and guide you home. I'll cry a little when I get there.
They'll have a welcoming party and all my lost relatives will greet me.
I haven't seen them in a lifetime. We'll catch up.
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