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✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞
When Great Trees Fall
(Maya Angelou)
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞•✝•♥•✞
♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~ ♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥~ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥~ღ♥~
♥ Peace My Heart ♥
♥ Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
♥ Let it not be a death but completeness.
♥ Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
♥ Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
♥ Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
♥ Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
♥ I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light your way.
♥ Rabindranath Tagore, Bengali poet and philosopher ♥
♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~ ♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥~ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥ღ♥~♥~ღ♥~
•:*:• ♥ •:*:• “The guardian angels of life sometimes fly so high as to be beyond our sight, but they are always looking down upon us.” Jean Paul Richter •:*:• ♥ •:*:•
~ Snow ~
(Tessa Wilkinson)
The snow arrived unannounced.
It overwhelmed everything.
Changed the landscape so it was unrecognisable.
No one was prepared.
My grief feels like that snowstorm.
I feel changed, weighed down by the burden.
Trying to negotiate the new environment around me.
Not knowing where I am going.
Looking for familiar landmarks.
I feel cold and miserable and ill equipped in this new place unvisited before.
But I know in time the snow will melt and return the landscape to some semblance of normality.
And I know in time my grief will diminish and I will find my way forward again, back to a world that I recognise, changed, but familiar.
Spring does always come after winter and hope will return.
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