Night disintegrates
in the middle,
as the final white light
pierces:
noiseless epistle.
All
fall
still,
some through the trap door:
one prophesy fulfilled.
Approaching the light,
limited time,
shadows evaporating:
Truth’s combine.
Back of the line
moving quickly forward.
Eyes widen:
final bipartisan border.
So many hands raised.
Some bargaining in pleas,
some opening to receive.
Regrets’ final drowning
in bucket lists,
all possessions vaporized
into ash and lint.
This is it.
Approaching The Light,
limited time.
If He speaks,
what will you
reply?….
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Laura Denise 