By The Window, She Waits

She would sit by the window draped
within a perpetually parked wheelchair.
The gloomy room surrounding her
was somber, drab, and gray,
leaving those visitors who would enter in a
dark, melancholy, and almost funereal state.
But even as family and friends trickled in,
forced to transverse the
vacuous and oppressive lackluster room,
in order to visit, upon occasion,
her in her dingy little hovel,
she does not see them,
for she is not cognizant of them,
for her listless eyes are vacant,
and her pallid complected face expressionless.
So even as gentle hands touch hers
in a sweet tentative gesture of love,
her face remains stoic, blank and indifferent,
for she is uncomprehending within
the hollow barren oblivion of her mind,
devoid of emotions, memories, and feelings
of love, passion, remembrance, and friendship.
So there she sits starring blankly out
into the cloudy overcast ocean of sky
as rain trickles streams of water
down the panes of glass,
as though heaven weeps the tears
she can no longer shed,
and the stagnant room around her
slowly becomes her
sepulcher of solemn desolation,
alone.

Until the day, when the beeping stops,
and the drum of the heart beats no more,
and she rises upon infinite wings eternal,
to be carried to a place where
music sounds and love flows forth
and the heavens open up to rejoice the coming,
of a reborn spirit of angelic beauty,
newly made whole,
laying cradled in the resplendence
of the gentle loving arms
of a Goddess Mother, beyond compare.