Psychopomp
Well I've been here before but I don't remember it clearly.
The traffic lights changed from amber to red too quickly.
My Psychopomp isn't here yet to guide me, I remember her
with angel eyes, a soothing voice, a voice I've not heard in a while.
There's supposed to be a bright light but it's still dark,
a thick blackness surrounds me but no voices yet.
There's a neutral kind of warmth, not cold, not hot,
and I've left my body on the mortuary table.
I can still see it, it looks pathetic, weak and cumbersome.
I giggle in relief, now. I'm unfettered from earthly things
and wait for the voices to sing me to my long sleep,
my hours of peace before I'm reunited with the collective.
I'm an old soul and have made this journey many times.
Ah, here she comes now, my own special angel, calling me.
I recognise her and she holds out her hand to me.
It's a broad, plump, capable hand, reliable and warm.
They come for you, non judgmental, make you feel safe,
then they guide you home. I'll have a little weep when I get there.
They'll have a welcoming party and all my lost relatives will greet me.
I haven't seen them in a lifetime. We'll catch up.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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