Brittle bones and dulcet tones
Of monitors beeping their last.
In a sunny room with a sinless floor
White sheets of purest perfection
Cover the only blemish
In view of Eden.
A casket of flesh hangs in tranquility
Over the hollow structure of mud and man.
Angels blink and do not see
The raging lacerations cradling
And caressing the final pieces of life
In her.
Her visage drapes to silence the mind
And will never be held again.
The winter of her absence is already felt
As her hands drift away like smoke.
Never took more than was hers,
Now this takes all that ever touched her.
The payment for a well-lived life is love
Hers wandering after the dulcet tones
Do cease.