Corridors

Picture source unknown

I say goodbye
holding your hand,
desperately searching
for raw comfort,
but from clay cold skin and defeated flesh,
words will no longer form, nor
draw me close.
You hold a smile,
and it squeezes my heart softly
with a palpable
sense of who I am and who we were.
I think you have just found a dream
inside of death, and see a vision
higher than we, one rich in vitality
for your journey or destiny –
I don’t believe we are
really saying goodbye,
and so, sweet dreams, my love –
stay far from errant shadows –
so I can see you
on the other side
.

Last Horizon

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The moon has cast its shadow
on the cradle of water
beneath its heavy sighs.
Where the silver depths have risen
and broken lines have been crossed
and lap over the divide,
lucidity brushes against the grit
of shores; touched by the rocking
motion’s of its arms, they
are kept from waking.
Waves crash and wrap
their feathered shawl around
new beginnings. New tides,
urgent and strong, are eager
to leave again and begin
a journey  – a voyage of their own –
attempting escape before being thrown
mercilessly, and scattered on rocks
of uncertain point.