We Leave with Nothing but Love


You Have Captured the Beauty of Pain
July 25, 2009, 7:56 pm
Filed under: God, Living
Love may speak of volumes,
Through the cracks of wrinkled skin,
Embedded deep within are the memories of life,
Happy moments intertwined with sadness of strife,
And though it is impossible to fathom,
Impossible to know,
The first smile would take us there,
And our first dance would bring us near,
Because even walking is difficult,
And breathing is laborious,
The smile reveals cracked teeth,
But the eyes still sparkle the same,
The leaves fall representing the death of a season,
They freeze and crack; caught in the breeze,
I sneeze and smile, as you hack and wheeze,
Death, be not proud, for death conquers all but one,
To die is to live, and to love is to die,
So hold on a while longer and laugh once more,
Sparkle as you did many years ago,
And show the light inside the dying eye,
And many think love looks like this or looks like that,
But can you paint love on a picture?
Or write about it in a poem?
Can you pick it up and hold it for a while?
As you squeeze it with the tip of your tongue?
Neigh it is impossible to say what it is,
Until one looks upon the wrinkled skin of a  dying spouse,
Until one sees the leaves fall from a dying tree,
Until one gazes at the last sparkle of a twinkling eye

Love may speak of volumes,

Through the cracks of wrinkled skin,

Embedded deep within are the memories of life,

Happy moments intertwined with sadness of strife,

And though it is impossible to fathom,

Impossible to know,

The first smile would take us there,

And our first dance would bring us near,

Because even walking is difficult,

And breathing is laborious,

The smile reveals cracked teeth,

But the eyes still sparkle the same,

The leaves fall representing the death of a season,

They freeze and crack; caught in the breeze,

I sneeze and smile, as you hack and wheeze,

Death, be not proud, for death conquers all but one,

To die is to live, and to love is to die,

So hold on a while longer and laugh once more,

Sparkle as you did many years ago,

And show the light inside the dying eye,

And many think love looks like this or looks like that,

But can you paint love on a picture?

Or write about it in a poem?

Can you pick it up and hold it for a while?

As you squeeze it with the tip of your tongue?

Neigh it is impossible to say what it is,

Until one looks upon the wrinkled skin of a  dying spouse,

Until one sees the leaves fall from a dying tree,

Until one gazes at the last sparkle of a twinkling eye

-Chris Munekawa
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