In Passing

After all the years, the heart-shaped promises,
linked pinkies, a Ponts des Arts love lock
one Spring, it has come now to this –
a sterile room with its too-small-for-two bed,
plastic flowers, faint smell of urine.
She stands bedside, stroking and humming,
remembers spooning one night by the sea.
The setting sun caresses white hair,
tremors become twitches,
become silence.

Ryan Stone

29 thoughts on “In Passing

  1. Oh man, this is such a heavy piece. To sit and watch death arrive is something one would not wish on anyone. This reminded me of my mother’s passing and how it must have been for my dad to watch her slowly and achingly disappear from his world. Great artwork to accompany this piece, too. It is itself poetic!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you for all your nice words, mate. Always appreciated. The picture was originally a photo I snapped on my phone, I’m glad you liked it πŸ™‚ I’m sorry if I dredged up any sad memories, that’s a very hard thing to go through.

      Liked by 1 person

      • You are most welcome, my friend. I love the image and the words and there is no need to apologize for the recalled memories – we are all a sum of our memories!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Ryan, your writing never disappoints. “In Passing” is a beautiful capture of a life lived and loved. Your photo is stunning with the moon visible between the tree branches, very peaceful. Please enjoy your week. ~ Mia

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Sorrowful Ryan. But also sweet that he dies beside the woman he’s loved all these years, that they have all these wonderful memories between them. I do not think there is such a thing as a ‘good death’ but at least being next, being touched by his wife of many years, I think that’s a close one to ‘good.’

    Liked by 1 person

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