You held my pieces
They found you the one morning
reading a book, of your many interesting books...
this morning your pages filled blank spaces
and gently you lifted up your head
and breathed with the world.
You held my pieces
with a deep sense of knowing
that these would never leave you.
Rest now.
We will play chess again
in heaven.
They found you the one morning
reading a book, of your many interesting books...
this morning your pages filled blank spaces
and gently you lifted up your head
and breathed with the world.
You held my pieces
with a deep sense of knowing
that these would never leave you.
Rest now.
We will play chess again
in heaven.
1 comments:
gone
One morning, one book.
A new chapter where,
"the main character"introduced himself , set up the board
and already in the first paragraph, I could read what was
written all over
that this was one of these most beloved characters
with whom you will identify so much, my god,
if I could only speak back, I would have told so much
about my own story, with all it's peculiar details
like how, for small heathen girls without heaven or hell,
closure on earth, and ritual
endgames becomes utmost importance
and chapters later,
I would have challanged,
the character's view of the upcoming end
(Dear character, I do hold some pieces,
thinking that these should soon leave me
because as a reader/reciever
I have nothing to offer in return,
but to pass things on)
one evening, turning the last pages,
in a most beloved book,
unwilling to part from a most beloved character
but resting in a reader's certainty,
that what has never fully lived
will never fully die
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