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Tears on A Birthday

 In silent grace, your face remains,

“The Good Pope” preserved in marble’s hold,

A body laid in peaceful chains,

A story told, a life enfolded.


The click of phones, a distant view,

Strangers’ eyes that do not see,

A prayer whispered, soft and true,

To Good Pope" (John XXIII), memory’s key.


Tears fall silent, shoulders shake,

Her face, her body, in repose,

In marble cold, a fragile ache,

A love that time and grief impose.


Snow White’s figure, glass and still,

Or angels’ breath that softly blew,

Is this your body? Or a shell,

A waxen dream we thought we knew?


Perhaps in graves, in sacred ground,

You rest in peace beyond our sight,

While memories in hearts are bound,

In faith’s embrace, in love’s pure light.


I run from shadows, rain’s cold tears,

A thunder’s roar, a storm’s lament,

Caught between the hopes and fears,

Of moments lost and time misspent.


Refuge found in whispered Wi-Fi,

A humble bun, a fleeting grace,

Yet still I long, I wonder why—

Your memory lingers in this place.


A birthday’s shadow, grief’s refrain,

A love that cannot fade or die,

In sacred silence, pain and pain,

A prayer beneath the Rome sky.


Another Version

Your face, in stately grace, remains—

A pope preserved in glass’s hold,

Like Snow White in fairy tales,

Gawped upon, their stories told.


Tourists snap their fleeting shots,

A photo for their distant friends,

As if your presence here and now,

Could somehow add to their pretend.


I turn away, my silent prayer,

For you, Good Pope" (John XXIII),

Even in dementia’s grip,

Your faith in God still held the key.


In basilica’s marble core,

Your visage, cold yet serene,

Tears fall unbidden, shoulders shake,

A love so deep, so unseen.


Her face, her body laid in peace,

In hospital’s quiet grace,

While you, in glass, like fairy tale,

Lie frozen in your sacred place.


Did they embalm you? Or angels’ breath,

Have kissed your brow with gentle care?

A waxen figure, frozen still,

A miracle beyond compare.


Perhaps your true body rests,

In sacred ground, in peace profound,

While memories and love persist—

In hearts of those who gather round.


I run from shadows, rain’s cold tears,

A thunder’s cry, a storm’s lament,

Caught between the hopes and fears,

Of moments lost and love’s lament.


Refuge found in whispered Wi-Fi,

A humble bun, a fleeting grace,

Yet still I long, I wonder why—

Your memory lingers in this place.


A birthday’s shadow, grief’s refrain,

A love that cannot fade or die,

In sacred silence, pain and pain,

A prayer beneath the Rome sky.

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