In loss we find ourselves
face-to-face with our failings,
souls in unsupported spin,
nomads in a tidal void.
Eclipsed anew by grief,
etched afresh with guilty regret
for the experience unshared,
the gift that can’t be given,
the candles unlit
the sentiments unsent.
Mourn for the promises that never can be kept.
Mourn for the side-by-sideness of life, now split halves of a fearsome equation.
Mourn for the compass of a blameless spirit
vanished
blent.
And for it all:
useless wisdom,
inept knowing
worthless ken.
Yet this I know: Love intact when the heartbeat fails, endures.
‘Tis M’Lady Leda’s name
I murmur to my heart
a hundred times a day when no one sees.
Her presence invisible,
her influence immeasurable,
She counsels and forgives, and strengthens me.
It is Leda’s face I now see in the moon.
Full and fair for every eye to see.
Clouds permitting, she
periodically rises to comfort me.
For this I know: Love intact when the heartbeat fails, endures.
(Volume 3, Chapter 153)
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