Singularity Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

I am clothed in remnants of bygone years,
flecks of memory, happiness, and pain.
The departed have drowned in wells of tears,
in lungs that harvest a quarry of rain.

My path has narrowed to a hopeless end.
I send a raven with anointed wings,
with feathers from a quill that might have penned
a heart-song of wondrous imaginings.

I stretched my limbs as far as they will go.
The time has come for me to sit and rest.
As leaves fall freely and autumn winds blow,
my heart is heavy as the night compressed.

I don't know if I will visit again,
if this is all there is, the worst or best.
I have strained to survive but even then
failure settled in my quivering breast.

My hands have held the most beautiful things:
a moonbeam as bright as the Buddha's eye,
a balmy breeze over trickling springs,
and droplets of rain from a cloudy sky.

My eyes have seen through their portals of blue
the broken timbers of lightning's defeat,
the black and white photographs' field of view
like voiceless fragments of life in retreat.

My ears have longed for the sound of your voice,
the green wind of hope for a sanguine heart,
for words to awake my soul to rejoice
in moments of joy before you depart.

I dissolve into this poetic pose.
My dress is brimming with the darkest ink,
and I fade to ash like a fallen rose
beneath a crescent moon on heaven's brink.