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August 24th.

In our infinite universe
coetaneous rituals of life and death
transpire: by unique congregation
you celebrated birth and I was destined to die,
a mere flicker from cosmic spheres,
caprice of a callous universe.

Our date, shielded by seven keys
(concealing treasures, perhaps an enigma).
The days Pope Gregory
updated weeks of the calender with his quill,
veiling valiant deeds or vanities
way back in 17th Century.

Without love nor goodbyes,
in sidereal space steeped with paradoxes.
Were there tears? A smile?
Or was it a mere crossing through ether,
an elliptic movement?
There’s no echo of our transit in the breeze;
I’ll await you in regions of lights
where there’s stillness and peace;
a fusion without dates nor numbers
in calendars of conscious lives.
Joyful my soul which one day you’ll escort
at the conclusion of our darkest nights.

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This poem is about a sweet carer who was supposed to start caring for my son Patrick on Monday, August 24th., but before she arrived he'd already died. He had been very taken with her, after several chats at home, and she was shocked when we phoned her not to come. She went to his funeral, crying, and some months later she offered to help care for my late husband, who had dementia. Sad, but true. About the birthday I mention, it was actually this girl's birthday. Unusual things just happen...
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Comments

Another truly poetic write. I feel your tenderness inside here, the beauty of your pen is right on your heart. I couldn't choose a favourite line because you are one of those poetesses that just make me think wow, every time. Strange things happen all the time to me too, I truly feel everything within this write. Beautiful couragous and full of wisdom.

Thank you...Teddy

Dear Teddy, you're overly enthusiastic with my poem. It just came out this way. What strange things have happenned to you?
I'm glad you "feel" this poem, even though it may not be in a good way. I think poetry has to touch the heart, if possible.
Take care, dear Teddy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

Just for records
POPE GREGORY 13TH
knocked off 11 days of the
GREGORIAN CALENDAR IN 1582
in order to align the
SUN AND EARTH'S movements
TILL today the sun and earth stay so aligned

I just suffered grief wish you read it

THE COLDEST AUTUMN DAY

Thanks ma'am

Dear lovedly, thanks for setting the record straight. I was going to do my researching when I fell and sprained my ankle. Not a good excuse, but you beat me to it.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

i just wanted to share
as i am a Time's self styled expert
indulging into the minds of humans
those who think logically
like i do
regards
do get well soon

Hello, Gracey,
Tender poem. Always mind-boggling how all the dots are connected in life. You have taken such a heartbreaking experience and given it hope and healing. Those "regions of lights where there's stillness and peace." Serene.
Thank you!
L

Dear L, I'm glad you find the regions of stillness and peace agreable. I'm not really sure that there are, but my heart feels it that way.
Yes, so many dots are connected in life, maybe all, as scientists, biologists and so on assure us.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment
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