Memory
And
what of memory?
Should the presence of it choke the ticking clock
With the fingers of love gone?
Should the ache of it
Stay the sun’s setting with the arms of
Love still felt?
Oh, how powerful is memory
That it paints a face on the present
And keeps me company.
And know still, that I may pluck
From inside this shell
The yolk of happiness,
This love.
It is ever there.
Ever real and present in my life,
And not “just” in my memory.
The Stone is Not Cold
I kissed his letters.
Now, I kiss his stone.
How joyous it was to share my day
In the written words.
They traveled to a foreign land.
Where is Korea?
Visualizing his face as his name was called,
I would kiss the envelope
And place it in the mail.
For hours it would sit in the big box.
How long does a letter take to travel 3,000 miles?
And in my box, there was yet another written word.
Nothing could stir my young days
As did the sight of that
Red, white and blue striped envelope.
And so our lives were touched by each other.
Not as the world touches,
But as the Spirit touches and changes your heart.
Living in my heart, I cherish more deeply,
I cling more desperately to the memory of that youthful time.
That time when love was what it must always be,
What it is to me, a treasure.
And as I now bend to kiss his stone,
I visualize his heavenly face,
Beaming with a joy only heaven can know.
A joy that his soul sings.
There is no time.
Love is forever and forever is always and is now.
And the stone is not cold--it is his face.
Warm and dear and loved forever
And three days after forever is done.