A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

THE DEATH OF MY SPANISH DOLL

I have felt the coldness
Of life's setting sun
As warmth and light
Slip away into night,
And stared upon
That blackened yaw,
Awaiting,
Forever now,
The returning breath.
A slackened jaw
Reciprocates at the last,
With one final sigh
The gift of birth,
Whispering a fare-thee-well
To the world,
Proclaiming another death
On earth.

In a rude, confusing shock
Of the inevitable,
This intrusion of honesty
Confronts me,
Lays bare my secret fear.
Reality's sterile scalpel
Cuts deeply,
Pares completely
Down to the bone.
I wrestle with
My disbelief,
Weep unashamed,
My tears of grief.

Yet surrounding me
A reverent sweetness
Lingers in the air,
A trace of angels' perfume there,
The scent of tranquility,
A soft, calm, stillness,
Strangely comforting.
A distant voice
Is calling down
To us, who live
And laugh and cry,
" I,
Aye,
My inner eye,
Yes, I shall love,
But never die."
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