Without Me

Image borrowed from Yahoo

Without Me

Time is but a ghost dance
in the minds of those who have been
touched by me, and when I make
that grand transition, crossing over
thresholds unseen but often visualized,
my dream of this life will end,
and I will awaken to a rainbow suit
draped on a grand bed post,
with loving light radiating
from my translucent fingertips,
in a room without mirrors,
without walls,

as those dark smudged trails of mascara
running down fluttering cheeks are soon
powdered dry, following the brilliant nano-second
of my passing all the traffic lights belch green
and the tiny wailing of the grieved becomes
a choral inhalation of breath, new life
for a litter of kittens, for a hundred thousand
old-souls emerging as infants, for hatching eggs
and blossoms bursting their pods
as the circus train moves on.

Glenn Buttkus

February 2011

Would you like the Author to read this poem to you?



Posted over on Applehouse Poetry