The Sleep.

Rivulets of sorrow meandering
tear-stained skin.
“Keep her comfortable
until it’s time.”   
Simple words-
of eternal reminder within.
You rise.

Guiding her
through the threshold
into the chill,

of realization emerge.

You survey
the molting trees,

their arid leaves
embellishing her hair
like fragments of
woven rhinestones.
As if they weep for her.
As if even the ambiances
of ages past are beseeching
her not to leave.

Soon arrives the Foehn,
holding you within
its warm embrace.
Its breaths,
whispering lines of truth,
sculpt a bittersweet tune
as they herald
the evening’s arrival.
You understand.

by lyrics of singing ivy,
her expression calms,
your fears dissolve.
Consoled by a draft possessive,
you cradle her
through the darkness
and follow her
toward the seraph’s call
into the fold of
midnight slumber.

27 thoughts on “The Sleep.

Add yours

  1. What a beautiful description of the tug of emotion at the time of letting one’s spirit go at the time of death. You and your grandmother must have had an amazing relationship. You speak of such love and tenderness between you. You write in a very picturesque manner. I look forward to reading more of your work.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. A very moving poem, beautifully written! Yes, wonderful relationship in your working with them… thanks Phoebe for this insight 🙂 All the best and keep on writing! Regards, Iris


  3. Beautiful poem, Phoebe. In your line of work, I don’t know how you deal with everything you see — although how wonderful that you can deal with it thoughtfully and honestly in your poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

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