from Another Voice not even i can write my sorrow so brilliantly

YOU ARE MY MUSE TODAY


where is the broom to sweep up
all the shards, to redeal life's cards
when a loved one has gone away
and left a heart to break on its own
the sudden crippling chill of all alone
from all the years once spent together ...
and now the bed is bigger, colder
no matter the number of blankets,
they cannot fill that space beside
where she used to lay, and keep
me warm, where is heaven's mercy
then, that makes an angel of one
so dear and hallowed in my life who
will not walk with me, but in memory . . .
the rooms still hold her essence
like it's waiting for her to return ...
her perfume like a flower's finest hour
fillling the air, her laughter a tenant
in my heart that filled my ears
i cry but she does not spill with my tears
flowing down the smile lines she
drew on my face with her soft kisses
as i gaze into the mirror alone,
the place she left so many notes in
shades of her red that covered her lips,
the "i love you"s with little hearts
drawn to dot the i... i was her guy . . .
i was the vessel she filled with her love
made life's journey so much easier,
how she filled my sails . .. now every wind
carries hints of her voice, my one-sided
conversations of all the plans we made
on those walks we used to take . . .
we pointed at the snow on the mountain,
how it seemed so big through our years,
we laughed, imagining how cold it would be
up there, though her smile could melt
the polar caps, and i would even tell her so.
i see, the snows returning, time's great
hands weighing the horizon, but that snow
won't melt now, i shelter the flame
of her in my heart, though my steps
are slowed and heavier, how she still
keeps me warm.that mountain doesn't
look so big anymore, that place you laid
down for your final sleep without me
by your side to keep you warm now . . .
it's all a mess now, time without her,
hard to keep the place clean now
it doesn't feel so much like a home
without her by my side, sharing my life. . .
maybe time is the bristled straw
against my final hours turning to dust
when my heart stops beating, too weak
to go on anymore, and then
to collect me and carry me to her . . .
and my legs will be young again
and my arms will be strong again
and my heart will become whole again
and she will redraw those smile lines
with those soft kisses and touches
upon my smooth face and that future
day i will once more sweep her
off her spiritual feet ... she is still my
smile as i think of that coming day
no longer having to spend without her . .