Box of Chocolates
BOX OF CHOCOLATES
My heart aches for those who vanish —
a variety like chocolates, melting
into vanquished existence.
First and farewell - those lucky
who have died, without having
their names besmirched —
the young and old, the hospitable
and the sweet character of a spinning
song, twirling on a record player
charming like a little girl’s dress
spreading with happiness. But
others leave us up in arms
they tug and pull, like Cinderella’s
stepsisters, leaving our lives
in tatterdemalion squalor.
Some vacate seats in our pews,
we feel their smiles floating,
fleeting and their hugs — incomplete.
Our workplaces like a revolving door
bringing in presents, leaving with bows
and my heart bobs near the shore.
Often it is the way people let us down,
chasing away the way we want things to be,
leaving us with a sore muscle, entangled
in hopeless chains, with slender fingers
reaching for the wispy-mist of life and love —
and endless raging river of serrated waves.
So long and farewell but know this, I
for one miss...you and you and you
for somewhere lies a perfect life,
with golden names and trellises, pearls
like lampposts, vivid-red apples, a
fairytale come true in degrees of hue.
A box of chocolates, recaptured, brought to
holy knees — taught by God to be friends
of a lasting succulent kind where death’s door
can never open or close, roses kiss our lips,
lovely robes touch or hearts, and hallelujahs
with wings perpetually pump agape life into our lungs.
12/26/2017
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