And
then she died, just like that.
I saw
nothing different in the day,
in
the sunlight, in the dawn,
in
the breath of the June breeze,
in
the new scent of morning.
Perhaps
I wasn't listening;
maybe
it was there, somewhere
whispered
in the wind,
if
there was even one to hear.
Perhaps
it was in the little motions,
the
little things that tell you…
if
you could only see and listen.
I
neither saw nor heard.
I
found a day, outside concern,
no
different from yesterday;
there
were no voices from heaven,
no
inklings of divinity.
There
was no wisdom in existence,
no
great majesty proclaimed;
no
purpose to the day but to live,
and
for her but to die.
With
a breath, a twist,
One
last gasp, and she was gone.
And
just like that, she died.
Even
then there were no questions,
there
was no reason;
there
were no inner bickerings
or
vain inspirations.
One
afternoon,
she just
died.
No
purpose to the day but to live and to move on,
And
for her, no more object to her life but to die.
