When the rose of last year’s love was not replaced,
she whispered “I loved you” and shed a tear.
She closed her eyes and through her memory traced
his pattern; she imagined he was near.
Filled heavy with acceptance, her tear swelled,
wet her lashes and rolled upon her cheek.
This tear was not wept, this tear quelled
the weeping worry; no mourning did it seek.
There was no need for other tears to flow.
Tenderly, and for just a moment brief,
she held this tear and then she let him go…
gone to soul; to find comfort and relief.
. A lover’s loss is not for time to keep,
. It’s far better kept where the soul is deep.
© Tim Grace, 11 September 2011
To the reader: I remember watching a Twin Towers documentary, describing remnant lives, a decade after the attack. It was clear that many emotional towers had taken devastating hits and were still struggling to rebuild any semblance of structural strength. Gradual resolution of the inexplicable loss of a loved-one, an intimate partner, is a torrid journey of repair; never complete … when the weeping is done, enduring, endearing Love is forever expressed in a single tear.
To the poet: … and there ends my deliberate set of love poems; some about Love, others for Love, and a few in Love. Shakespeare wrote of Love as both spirit and soul. As spirit, Love is an attractive energy that fuels our motivation to intimately bond. As soul, Love is a figmented expression our passionate desires. Blessed with Love (spirit and soul) we are granted the human condition; ever challenged to balance on the one-hand energy and on the other passion; the humours: dispositions, preferences, propensities, and temperaments.