Thursday, May 9, 2013

Number Eighty Seven

The last sunrise illumines the east.  The last day begins.  Soon all plans will end; the hope for what the next day brings will end.

In the window a bird sings to no one.  It is over; this life.  The body's heavy burden is lifted; the last lesson either learned or unlearned.

Now is the gathering of moments, of every choice.  We listen to every uttered word, the truth and the deception, feeling what the words brought -- whatever pain or comfort.

Now is the gathering of every touch -- for violence, healing, or love.

And now, in the darkness at the end of the last day, the ones arrive who know us.  They have been there in a hundred lives.  Soon we begin again.

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