A luminous translucent light emerges
from the fog… moving in slow motion...
A floating form that is not of flesh and blood
Veiled in a cosmos of sparkling micro-stars

A solitary observer strains to see more detail
Searching for familiar features… finding none
Attracted to follow… not knowing the reason
An ethereal sensation clings and mystifies

No sounds are heard… yet there is a breeze
Ever so slight from rapidly fluttering wings
The throbbing of a quickened heart ceases
In this moment, the gates of heaven open wide

1/22/2010

Theresa Ann Moore

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dying-47/