Nancy L. Meek
The mourning heart is a wingless bird
that can’t explain what has occurred
But feels the loss, that empty space,
as phantom lines of a familiar face.
The severed part is surely there,
as God-to-man in deepest prayer,
Invisible, but still quite real,
a gaping wound that will not heal.
Then slowly, merciful relief
fills the heart and numbs the grief,
Cools the hot incessant tears
and shortens days that lasted years.
The wounded heart begins to mend
and memories become a friend,
Fill the void, that empty space,
retracing lines upon the face.
The past begins to speak once more
without the pain it caused before.
The heart, now whole, looks to the sky
and spreads its wings… this time to fly.
©Copyright February 14, 1998 by Nancy L. Meek