The Veil
For Harold B Wade (1930-2019)

Coming midnight, when bells toll eerie,
my heartbeats faint and pulses weary,
Breath a specter, grim and leery, threatening to flee my frame.
Appears a wall, a pallid gleaming, translucent white, in shadows streaming,
Voices through the veil come dreaming, murmuring my mortal name.
“Stay thy call,” I gasped in terror, voice to silence lost its claim,
For my sons, my life, still cling my trembling hand to worldly aim.
*
Heartbeats falter, slow and solemn, in this chamber dark and lonesome,
Wall aglow with ghostly omen, woven by the veil’s soft flame.
Through its sheen, ancestral faces—Momma, Papa, lost in traces—
Granddaddy’s shade, with ancient graces, bids me join their timeless game.
“Not yet,” I cry, though silence smothers, none to hear my anguished plea,
Friends and widows, left to languish—who shall aid their misery?
*
Heartbeats wane, a dirge’s measure, breath a thief that steals my treasure,
Veil upon the wall’s pale pressure lures me to its mystic claim.
There, my love, through sixty-three years, her voice, a bell through misty tears,
Beckons soft where starlight steers, calling me to leave this flame.
“Not yet,” I moan, with fervent yearning, craving one last flight to soar,
Mach one’s thunder, skies a-burning, ere I pass that spectral door.
*
Heartbeats quiver, scarce enduring, veil’s allure forever luring,
Her hand extends, my soul assuring, through the shroud of endless night.
Sons clasp tight my hand, despairing, grief in eyes, their hearts a-tearing,
“Come,” she whispers, gently bearing, “with new wings, thou shalt take flight.”
Moribund, I scan their earthly sorrow, tears that fall in mournful stream,
Fingers slip, my strength I borrow, yielding to the veil’s grim dream.
*
Heartbeats still, no breath to linger, death’s cold touch, a raven’s finger,
Veil upon the wall, a harbinger, opens wide its ghostly gate.
“I’m coming,” I sigh, to her replying, through the mist, my spirit flying,
Soul unbound, no longer vying, freed from flesh’s heavy weight.
With her, to heaven’s stars I wander, past the earth’s confining dome,
Bells ring out, my soul grows fonder—through the veil, I’m called to home.
***
About the Creator
J. S. Wade
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. S. Wade owns all work contained here.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.

Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.