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Keiya Tasire Sep 2020
Oh, my dear loved one
I deeply feel you in my heart.
When all of my work in this life is complete
I look forward to sitting together on a green hill
Overlooking this Heaven most high.
Sharing, heart to heart
The memories and love.
My tears of Joy flowing
From the very first time we met in heaven, long ago
Sharing earth time together
Birth, laughing, playing, challenges, grief and growth
Becoming a comfort in each other's heart.

Such is the rising sun
Endearing thoughts of a heart remembering
With beautiful prayers of Love.
This expanding moment
Now comforts my heart.
Just knowing we can sit here on this green hill
In continuing, enduring peace.

Embracing across no time
In a moment of eternity.
My heart and soul are hopeful
Strengthening my resolve
To live fully within Love.
I was posting to a FB page I manage about grief today. This poem poured out of my heart within  minutes, placing itself on the page.
M G Hsieh Feb 2019
You say and i heard -
the ease of this pain,
the taming of the winds.

Howling the unspoken,
never knowing the light of things

is easily dismissed.
An imagined feeling,
a dreamful wish and such fancies.

How many times have you visited
and left messages and crumbs?

Seeing the entirity
before it ended,
and your footprints lifting me
until i flew across the sky
this dead night in the daylight.

Every snake and folly trampled on
and the dirt roads travelled us far from each place,
led me back without you.

So i listen now,
the silent vows fulfill themselves

in time.
Arlene Corwin Aug 2017
Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Remembered?

Who wouldn’t mind being remembered?
It’s not the same as wanting fame -
Naiveté’s vanity its other name.

Who wouldn’t mind some impact?
An itch to reach out
Maybe teach, knowing one knows so little –
Naught at all – We are so small.

But art is there,
And impulse wants from within wants out,
Shouts quietly with word
When you yourself have disappeared.

Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Remembered? 8.16.2017
Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin
Think of all the burial & after-death customs.
M G Hsieh Apr 2016
They march
withered but undying
with mud
fallen sweetly on their faces.

A new sky and a tender wind
grant severance from the sea.

Haunt us no more
with your pikes and arrows.
Blend our moanings and call our names:

the sunflower,
the wind,
the moonshine breaks

a mirrored frame,
a knighted sky,
and iron cast in embroidered lace.

I lay my hopes in
a hinterland of grace/waste.

What will a soul bring
that a body cannot
in sorrow or in death?

When sentiments of corpses
hang high from windows
paneled by offense,

stars fall on broken strings.

— The End —