The Last Time

1 Comments

Poem Commentary

This could have been divide into more than one (poem)Thought, I did not because when it started it just kept flowing. I know it is long but it was so completely there, I can not break it up.

The Last Time

James has gone, home it seems
he's found some peace, in rest.
I know he'll hurt-not one day more.
I'll remember him giving his best;

The best of days to carry us, some smiles to see us through.
A memory of love and trust...of legacy not set wayside,
of Family a must
                      has traveled to me from you!

I do not come to stand here tall,
to carry myself wise.
I only came to let them flow and memories spill, fall from my eyes.

It's not so much I'll miss him
                             as long for him I will.
The time for us was limited,
precious spaces...now left to fill.

Too miss him is a given, to love him always will.
To know my heart is Driven...
His presence no longer still.

I will to carry you with me,
everywhere I go .
I love you Alway - forever.
You face in my heart, a Glow!

Of all I now have thought of and everything unsaid,
of words formed by emotions, left swimming in my head.
Of this one thing I'm certain; I know and rest assured.
Thru time our ties, through years and lies have deepened, grown stronger...endured.

I stand in the garden of wonder and finger the leaves of a vine.
I look to the sun and ponder - how the ebb of yours, fit the flow of mine.

I thought I said,"I Love You", winked and lent a hand.
I know I'm thinking of you,  I Blinked and jumped to stand...

I'm not dreaming!
                   just missing you Dearly, already...

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mamasan commented on The Last Time

11-18-2009

Beautifully written and may you find peace and healing in the good memories you did build along the way. I agree the poem belongs as it is and should not be broken up.

JeffBQ

11/18/2009

Thank you for the kind words. Also thanks for the agreement it helps build confidence, I am very well and I am blessed, again thanks

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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