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Too Little of Peace

Rest in peace
a commandment
as if
all of your life
you had a troubled troubled
And what of us?
The survivors.
The sinners.
The above ground winners.
The ones left behind
to think of you
and of your absence.
How do we rest
late late at night and
throughout the day
thinking, thinking, thinking
how different
how odd
to feel so keenly
the lack of the something
of someone
who is no longer here or there.
And where is the nowhere and the anywhere
that she once was and might have been?
And the puzzling puzzlement of questions
of exactly where did she go
and has there been anything
of her left behind?
Was that her soft form
leaning on the edge of my bed?
Was that the wind whispering or was she simply trying
to remind
me of the days when
she would whistle through a blade of grass
and I would quietly listen?
Or was that another
something, something
taunting in my head?
I know what God, what religion says
but where oh where do people go
when they're dead?
And where will I go when I am gone too?
Will I be out there somewhere
with her,
and with all of them?
Oh, there is too little of peace
in all of these questions.

Copyright December 31, 2011 All Rights Reserved By the Author
Melissa A Howells   Meloo of Tilt-a-World

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