She looks into their eyes and doesn’t understand.
Death is overcoming her… becoming her… and she doesn’t seem to notice.
How did she get to this place in time?
Where will all the memories go?
Does she have a hand to hold, a soul to give, or peace to behold?
An ensemble of faces, the ones that gave her pleasure, now bring sadness to her.
A heavy weight is carried in their sorrowful eyes.
She looks to them and wonders why.
Why the sadness… why the tears… why the fears?
They see the end that is ahead… but she does not know what is to come.
She wonders if this is when faith would have been a friend.
She wonders if her faith has been strong enough.
She wonders if she has questioned too much.
She is okay with the coming of the end.
It is as if she awaits a blissful rest.
No fear is shown.
I hope she does not know the terrible ache I feel… the madness throbbing in my chest.
Do they wonder why she is not distressed?
Do they not see her end as a peaceful rest?
Does anyone else feel angry?
Does anyone else see what I have come to believe?
Her genius wasted on a world unworthy;
Her struggle with the demons fought in vain.
Is this the sadness I see on their faces?
Please don’t let it be pity! For that is not what she needs.
I hope they can see…
This woman is more than a symbol of internal wars.
She had gold in her heart and fever in her mind.
A brain filled with wisdom and with no one to share.
Her insight now dwindles in the air… threatening to leave us behind.
Do you see? Are you contemplating the magnitude of her gifts?!
This is the sadness throbbing in my chest… the cause for bitterness that I do not wish to keep… the deep pains of loss that I do not wish to face.
Love, peace and compassion for her soul;
A soul who has endured more pain… more unjust… than any soul should have to know.
Does she see the peace ahead… the blissful rest that waits?
I hope and pray she does… but we may never know.
A test of OUR faith, I suppose.
No truth is clear in what I believe; the faith of unknowing is what I seek.
I do not know if I will see you when I reach the end of MY days.
I can only hope… there will be redemption.
I did not reveal to you the purpose I saw within you.
Did you know? Did you wonder? Did you hear the truth from that place of blissful rest?
Now I cry in sorrow for your soul.
Now I am filled with the loss of what you did not know.
Do you understand what I see?
I see an angel on earth who was never given a chance to spread her wings.
You have been failed.
It is not a thought I want to remember you by… but it is one that I should carry by my side.
Our discomfort is nothing compared to your struggles on this earth.
May you have the peace you believe in… the peace you see at the end of your days… the blissful rest that waits ahead.
May our perceptions be changed; may your struggle not be in vain.

Be as weary of Perfection as She is of You.


She'll become a craving, a need, a drug.

It starts off slow, until you get a taste.

Dark, inevitable, curious and sloppy; You get your first taste of Her. Casual and carefree, sloppy and fluid.
Blissful.

It picks up momentum when you go back.

Hopeful, deliberated, secondguessed and spontaneous; You get your second taste of Her. Slow and careful, foreign and desired.
Blissful.

It gathers speed when you stumble back.

Wanted, craved, longed for and dreamed about; You get your third taste of Her. Rushed and impulsive, lust-filled and needy.
Blissful.

It goes downhill when you are already waiting.

Anticipated, eager, excited and anxious; You get your fourth taste of Her. Explosive and passionate, raw and craved.
Blissful.

Gaining momentum and escalating further when you do not leave.

Built-up, painful, needed and difficult.
You get your fifth taste of Her. Rough and sharp, painful and needed.
Blissful.

Now you have the taste and it's no longer controlled.

Dangerous, destructive, unsustainable and fascinating. You want more of Her. Curious and captivating, different and the exception.
Blissful.

Inevitable in its destruction and absence when you fall.

Poisonous, addictive, toxic and intoxicating. You need Her. Craved and harmful, exciting and deadly.
Blissful?


Be as weary of Perfection as She is of you.