|06-13-2001, 12:12 AM||#1|
I met Sylvia about two years ago. I wrote poetry to lift her spirits, and found all too often, she lifted mine.
The Poet and the Angel
by T.L. Stokes
It seems fitting, on a rainy Monday,
as full misty cups of clouds
pour down, erasing
the fine green edges of solumn firs,
I just read the letter
from the man who loves you.
I don't know how to tell you this,
he began. I knew all the rest.
I look out from the window
of my weeping heart,
and see you standing right in front of me.
I see your face, the yellow sun
of your soul.
I am not ready to let you go.
What words will the poet write now?
You would say to me: write not of the sadness.
Let the clouds be swept away,
let the wind blow fresh, let spring come again
like the frogs who sang dirges
and kept us up. Made us laugh
Forget that cancer loomed
on the aching horizon.
We stood in silence,
hearing the beconing voice of death.
And busied ourselves with weaving,
with all the colored twine and thread
of life here on the table.
The days would pass but only
in terms of the present. You taught me that.
You were too busy living your life
to fear too much.
We were afraid. And that was accepted.
As was the morning frogs singing,
and our laughter. And the wonder,
of your small boy on a maiden flight.
Of losing hair. Of poetry. Of your new cat.
What words now my friend
can I write of your passing?
How can I be strong enough
when inspiration becomes the clouds
on my face?
So I write of the sadness. Forgive me,
but it is the truth. And that is what you
taught me most. Live honestly, live
like a bucket. Fill and pour, fill and pour...
and all of us who love her
|06-13-2001, 12:47 AM||#4|
I met Sylvia at the Acmepet Dog Chat online. At the time her breast cancer was in remission. We became good friends and talked on icq often. I wrote her a poem about hope...and she shared it with other women and networks she knew dealing with breast cancer. Was just like her too, rather than holding onto something just for herself, she would always pass it on. Over time I wrote poems for her about Nick's flying to Disney world, losing her hair, a cat they picked out from the humane society, and spring. One request she made, was for a poem about pixy dust. So I wrote her one and she posted it here. She figured if something was good for her, if she was inspired by something, it must be good for others. She shared her heart
I am grateful you made her feel so welcome here. This forum brought her continuous joy.
|06-13-2001, 12:55 AM||#5|
Kunder, now that you relate your story, I do recall Sylvia speaking to me of the person who wrote her poems. And here you are! Sylvia lives on. How nice. :D
Here is a link to a post I made that has many Sylvia threads from the past few days. You may enjoy a few hours of reliving Sylvia's life as it effected and affected us here on the DIS. So nice to have you visit, register and share.
Links to many Sylvia threads
|06-13-2001, 06:00 PM||#10|
That was simply beautiful! I don't even think beautiful is a strong enough word to use!
Come and visit with us anytime please! I would love to hear more of your poetry!!
|06-13-2001, 07:09 PM||#13|
Kunder, that was beautiful.
I did not get to meet Sylvia, in person or on these boards. But I know, from the comments of others, that she was truly a wonderful person.
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