The Art of Losing

I’d thought myself a winner, having worked well and hard.

With Marnie raised our kids, took retirement, health unmarred.

And then we’d experienced life in other places – had wandered,

studied, walked life’s paths together, oft sat and pondered.

Luckily, we’d been quite whole of body, mind, life-style,

And our years flowed by creatively for quite a while.

Flowed by as in a dream ... but now she’s dead, you see

and I’m here alone. Instead of two, there’s just me.

I still look at travel books, journals, maps, and more

And with family and friends, conjure past years galore

But those so-real times with her are in the dust

for now my Marnie’s at rest; I’m left alone to rust.

And now I’m rather long of tooth, and so very sad too,

Even took courses to guide me, alone, to get through.

After 53 years together, the loss has been hard to smother

we’d both loved so, needing to be needed by the other.

Many good friends – to Death – have been my loss.

‘Tis the Law here on Earth, to bear mortality’s cross.

All is flux, so all must go; yet the hardest I have found

is mastering life without my Mate, no longer ’round.

Oh Death is real, so real, and – like birth – surely matters.

Such hard consequences for the survivor, left in tatters.

She’d been born, lived, loved, gave birth, now too soon I dread

ne’er more in this universe, our lips to touch; my Marnie’s dead.

She’d been my completion, heart’s home and Eden too.

Now, with her return to the Eternal Fountain, I’m so blue.

For me – the task of daily living’s now under a great pall

my good wife’s absence – like the sky – spreads over all.

My body – so like an empty house – still craves her near

For without her presence, my temple’s lost its fire I fear.

As her constant lover, my blood had coursed hot and full;

now, without her love, it’s not the same; Oh God … ‘tis dull.

I’ve found that the Art of Losing is not hard to master;

Eventually we all lose love and life, that’s not my disaster.

For the best laid schemes of all who live, oft have no advent

and thus we learn - Life’s Plans contain their own intent.

Posted December 28^th, 2013

Home	Our Stories	The Sublime	Our World and Times	Book Reviews
Marnie's Images	The Journal	Gleanings	From The Writings Of. . .	Allegories