The Clumsy Performer

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Death, the clumsy actor-

unaware of stage or script,

stumbles into my quiet world,

interrupting the scenes I hold most dear,

loud and uninvited,

breaking through the fragile silence.  


I watch as hope flickers-

a delicate flame trembling in the wind,

shining through the cracks of my heart,

trying to believe in the light,

even when shadows threaten to swallow it whole.  


Beside me, grief stands silent-

a heavy weight I carry,

hidden behind a mask of strength,

tears waiting just beneath the surface,

my heart aching in quiet surrender,

wishing for more time, more words,

a moment to hold him close,

before the silence takes its place.  


Every day, I come-

bringing tenderness,

a small, sacred act of love,

a whisper in the storm-

a reminder that love remains,

even when the stage grows dark.  


Death, so clumsy, so careless-

knocks over dreams like fragile scenery,

misses its cues, forgets its lines,

yet love endures-

a quiet, sacred dance-

a touch, a glance, a presence-

rising like a soft, sacred song,

filling the emptiness with something stronger than sorrow,

something that lingers long after the lights fade.  


When the final curtain falls-

when I step into a sky of angels’ gentle lift-

the kindness I received, the courage I showed,

remain etched in the fabric of my soul-

glowing softly, like embers in the dark,

long after silence claims the stage,

long after the applause becomes a memory.  


Death may stumble, may falter-

but love, the truest performer,

moves with grace beyond understanding,

casting shadows and light-

a reminder that even in loss,

there is a song that endures,

a light that never truly fades.  

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