Behind the Veil



Nothing Will Be Lost

When my mind stops

Racing with a million thoughts,

When my heart stops

Pulsing Love through my veins,

Nothing of value will be lost

As the Words and Love live on.

From here til then

You’ll have my Eyes,

My Heart,

My Soul.

I will continue to love you

Til this body of mine

Gives way

To the beckoning call of the soil.

When the time comes,

Please wrap my retired

Physical self

Lovingly in fine linen

And lay my body

In the ground

To feed Life

From Death…

Nothing will be wasted,

Nothing will be lost.

Limbs of Justice

The Trees wept with the sky

Waving their arms in protest

As they watched in horror…

The smoldering ashes of progress

Spell out

The Injustice of the World.

“Our Brethren… Our Cousins…”

All gone for the jaded,

The misdirected,

The selfish retrograding gain

Of one species.

The privileged erect apes,

They claim

What is not theirs to own.

They devastate


What was never theirs to destroy.

Anger and despair

Surround every branch

And every leaf.


The Sentient Beings find the Calm

And hold their tongues

Against the well of sorrow.

For the Wise Old Trees know

The winds are getting warmer

And that one day

Justice will be served.

Beneath the Stones

She left no stone unturned.

Looking up at the swaying branches,

She knew this must have been the place.

One by one she searched,

Over-turning pebbles and boulders,

For the thing

She felt hopeful and doubtful

She would find.

The moist forest soil

Established itself underneath her long fingernails,

Cracked and chipped from

Geologic obstacles.

Finally, with rubble and destruction

Surrounding her,

She found what she had been

Looking for…

A faint smile etched,

A small tear dripped,

And she knew Life would never be the same.

Life and Death

Life and Death were taken from me.

When Life was taken – I was alone.

The world seemed to grow silent,

And everything looked fuzzy – as if I were only an observer looking through a filthy camera lens.

“We’re sorry for your loss.”

I wonder how many times they’ve said that to a woman half-reclined with a thin sheet draped over her bare legs and cold gel sticking to her inner thighs.

I could not help but look down in disbelief at the abdomen that would not be expanding any time soon.

Life was taken from me.

When Death was taken, I was at the hospital. The very same hospital in which I gave life two years prior, only now it was stained with the sterilized stench of Death.

I tried to smile when the nurse joked that the hospital-issue treaded socks covered an entire half of my petite legs.

I tried to reassure the well-meaning women who accompanied me that I was ok – when I really wanted to cry and scream and tell them they were poor substitutes for the husband who simply couldn’t be there to hold me during the taking of Death.

I was relieved when I fell asleep – only to wake up to a devastation that escaped audibly and uncontrollably from my throat.

Why did they have to see me cry?

Death was taken from me.

For long afterward, I would often reach down and touch the place that created and housed both Life and Death.

A new normality nestled itself against my existence.

Yet I still grieve the Death that took precious Life from me.