Transition

Now you are gone and I must walk in solitude
And meditate upon the cosmic laws I find
Have parted us. I sit and mourn in melancholy mood,
As low, the black dove hovers o'er her soulless brood.
Oh, karmic ties, that to a fleshly chrysalis bind;
That lead you far beyond and leave me sad behind
To wait throughout a long discarnate interlude.

And yet, in some srange way I seem to sense again
The animistic presence of your outstretched hand,
As softly we commune in shadow-land.
A warm, celestial glow incarnadines me when
We meet on planes where never mortal man has been.
Transformed, I touch the stars whose distance I have spanned,
And pause in silent wonder; then I understand,
That I have walked with angels on the floors of men.
~Maurine Coman



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