The Glance.

The glance, when understood, is more

than all the words that have been said;

Than all the paths upon this earth

that we so briefly tread...

And here was time, encapsulated,

as quiet as the tip-toe back and forth

of the last bastions of hope in their crisp

and perfectly ironed uniforms.

He thought the silence became him, suited his mood,

as did the elegant whiteness of the room,

only the incessant drip, drip, drip,

of his enforced sustenance daring to intrude.

Unwilling to leave, he instead transferred

the dreams of summer days to memory;

And though no longer firm of hand, 

eschewed the veil of descending eternity.

"Come with me," he said, (though no words

were spoke.) "Come to where our world is locked

in time and our eyes weep tears of joy at all 

the wonders we have seen and marvelled at."

"But I am not ready," came the hushed reply,

"I have still as many walks along our favourite

beach as there are summer days yet to come.

Can you not wait awhile?"

"You ask the wrong person," he whispered,

"choice is a luxury we only think we own.

Such arrogance is only for the young, not for

those for whom the dice is already thrown."

"Then I shall wait for you," she replied, a last kiss, 

delicate as the gossamer wings of a butterfly,

descending. "On the path along the cliff that leads

down to the beach, I expect you'll be there by and by."

And here was time, encapsulated in a glance

as all knowing, as all encompassing as the

tip-toe back and forth of the last bastions of hope 

in their crisp and perfectly ironed uniforms.

Reviews

[Robert Trakofler]

The weavings within this weave is grand! You are, in this bunny's opinion... one of those writers that is best spoken to truly absorb the lines intent. A lovely cadence and flow in this write I like your voice in this very much a kind of loud, lush... hush :)

[Lea Sheryn]

We can say do much with our eyes that we can't always put into words. There is a strong bond between to people ehen they can speak to each other at a glance with no words spoken.

[Chris Shaw]

The last moments of a life sadly slipping away. Beautifully captured here and so very touching Beccy. All those years together, such a strong bond and yes it does bring home the importance of family in the overall picture.

Chris

[emmajoy]

Dear Becky, there are poems, words, that fill the heart with beautiful sadness.. and this, dear lovely friend, this is one.. maybe THE one. You've created such atmosphere, tableaux of fading life.. yet made the time exquisite, somehow. The suddneness of Hannah's father's death must have been terrible.. and yet, somehow, his darling wife found that inner essential that held on to her goodbye.. and more than likely, holds it even today. Family often deserves that much more love when troubles arise but, they come from the same spring and survive anything, everything - God willing. Your poem is so special.. means more than ..

[Neville]

I dont think you have ever written anything, at least that I have read so far that does not smack of quality.. This is certainly no exception.. Truly moving & true Beccy.. I take me hat off to ya, so I do.. N

[Beccy]

Thank you Neville. Hannah's dad was so very close to my father's age; seemed in perfectly good health, and his passing focused my whole attention on how important family is.

[Neville]

It happens, and all too often it happens my friend... thank you for the addendum.. Stay well the both of you & look after the older fella, as I Know you will........... Regards from down here... N

[roarke]

I enjoyed this well balanced prose.

[Beccy]

A long term, (since primary school,) friend of mine's father died just a short while ago, (it was a heart attack whilst at home and quite unexpected.) He was rushed to hospital and his wife was with him to the end; hand held, just sitting by his bedside. My friend called me and I went with her to the hospital; but sadly, within fifteen minutes or so of us arriving, her father passed away.

My friend cuddled her mum and whispered quietly that dad was gone. 'Only in the physical sense,' was the reply. 'anyway, I haven't finished saying goodbye yet.'

She was still holding her husband's hand and it moved me so very deeply that I cried like a child. Over fifty years and the love was as strong as ever. My friend's name is Hannah and she gave me full permission to write the poem

Beccy.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this reminds me a bit of "because I could not stop for death" by emily dickinson.
He is a gentleman, death, and is waiting for her...in this one he doesn't pick her up in a carriage.
But just lets her know he is waiting...and yet as the speaker in emily's poem is too busy even to die.
this person still feels she has too much to accomplish before she is ready to go.
wonderful poem, Beccy.
such feeling....