At the Last

5 Mar

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At the Last
by L. Stewart Marsden

At the last,
when the salt-brined smell of urine
soaked the entire room;
when you looked up and saw past me
beyond the darkening doom;
when you touched me with your purple-mottled hand
and gently squeezed;
when the curtains softly billowed
with the cooling evening breeze
and masked the stench of death
with a honey-suckled ease;
I wanted to hold on — and
not to ever let you free
from my selfish one desire:
do not ever go from me.

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8 Responses to “At the Last”

  1. busymindthinking March 5, 2014 at 11:19 am #

    This is beautiful. A piece that stirs the soul. One day, we’ll all be in that situation, longing for someone to stay. Thanks for your beautiful entries. Belinda

    • skipmars March 5, 2014 at 11:25 am #

      All too soon, Belinda. Thank you.

      • busymindthinking March 5, 2014 at 11:30 am #

        You’re most welcome. Yes, too soon and oft too young; though loss is still loss, no matter the age.

  2. whiteladyinthehood March 6, 2014 at 7:28 pm #

    This was really truthful and beautiful.

  3. Moontan March 14, 2014 at 6:29 am #

    Beautiful. Poignant. “when you looked up and saw past me beyond the darkening doom;” I worked 20 years around dying old men. No better description than that. I never captured their thoughts during such moments, though. I wonder if we can, or we simply have to wait our turn to know? Well done, sir.

    • skipmars March 14, 2014 at 8:07 am #

      Thank you for a comment beyond “I liked it.” Even if the sentiment had been not favorable, yours is the kind of comment I think most poets/writers look for/cherish.

      • Moontan March 14, 2014 at 8:21 am #

        I agree completely. In this case it was my privilege.

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