till death

There are some who say, time stops,
that all the world is held speechless.
Sunlight runs your face in dew drops,
searching your lines, what they confess,
and that he knows.

They say,
that the wind intermingles with your hair,
finding pathways around every strand.
A soft current moving fluid and fair,
like a slow electricity, lightning to sand,
until he commands us into his care.

These are fanciful ideas, warm with hope;
tales we brave the future with, holding fast.
But I have lived longer than priest or pope,
and these tales cannot save me from my past.

For I feel each dawn as rain upon my face,
and look to the stars for companionship.
In the end, I too will know wrath or grace,
but not before I taste her kiss on my lips,
for just one last time, as she leaves this place.