by Carole Stolz 19th January 2011
She died, shortly, but soon glimmered a flimmer of hope
as her heart, having lost its beat, surged to life once more.
Oh the loss was real enough, knifelike in its pain.
The scar still throbs with every beat of her broken heart.
But through the tears of loss and of loneliness shines a clear image of a better day.
A day when she will see that all these tears were collected in a glass, by loving hands, bent on comfort, stroking hurt away, saying words wordlessly which soothed the soul,
- ravaged as it was by the ripping assunder of the oneness.
So even though the miss is real,
the kiss unreturned,
the discussion now a monolgue,
the epilogue becomes the prologue,
the foreword in faith of a more wonderful time than that which was to date.
Her mate is gone, in the twinkling of an eye.
But the sigh is one of thankfulness for great times had.
Sadness overwhelmed by gladness to have known such love.
And when the Bridegroom comes to claim His Bride,
She knows that that celestial marriage will be even better.
Unfathomable...
Great is the mystery.
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