still picking the pieces
its only been days gone
The last bit of me
from my privacy;
(From us: We didn’t know)
asking if ‘I was still enough’
(Are we ever ample?)
like no power of my own to decide
(From us: You created for and gave us soulful harmonies)
a coercive battlefield
(From us: The egoistic void existence of audience and flashing vultures)
even in thought.
(From us: Rest your mind, you know you’re WORTHY Beloved)
they fix you into your Sunday best
early on when your feet are light with butterfly ankles
and your spirit flighty,
‘The presence of the Lord God is divine’
‘Give him your best’, she says.
In packing slowly she found her peace
Faintly wishing you’d appreciated it too.
Though now her beauty is gone, it’s gone past prime
A beauty that is engraved in our hearts
A beauty awaked by a sweet angelic wail.
Her pieces are without measure
And know that even to her, Grace upon her was
divine to give her chords,
through decades to last,
Such is grace eternal
like your Sunday bests’
it’s an everlasting Hope,
“Family, I’m home, Family, Hallelujer” she says.
In My ears, she lives on.
In my heart, her lyrics ring to life.
Thank you, Whitney.