A poem: Of 2019, life's hallways, its memories, loss, faith and hope

The hallway is silent,

my heart is not.

It beats with blood, oxygen and memories,

of love, and loss,

dreams of reunion

anchored in

Eternity

Friends and kin,

grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, 

cousins and friends,

all have walked, some

resolute, some unsure,

these same worn, stained tiles

before me.

And opened that door.

Disappeared

From here,

to where?

Well, There.

Now, I approach 

that threshold

slowly, surely,

with resignation

of mortality;

and comfort of faith.

For below the door,

through the keyhole

Light . . .

And, I am not afraid.

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*Don't freak, dear ones. Just a poem, reflections, as 2019, the year of mourning, nears an end.