"Angel´s Wings" by Deborah Cullins Smith

ANGEL’S WINGS
By Deborah Cullins Smith
March 5, 2005
A Tribute to Henry Bruce Cullins, my beloved cousin by birth, my brother at heart.



The soft rustle
     Of angel’s wings
Whisper in sterile corridors
     Amid the squish of soft-soled shoes.
          Love’s desperation
          Shakes its head
               And silently cries, “It’s too soon…”

The soft rustle
     Of angel’s wings
Hover gently over the steady stream
     Of visitors and loved ones
As pain’s mask descends.
     Hands that guided bicycles
          And helped little fingers
           Into baseball mitts
Now grip bed sheets
      In white-knuckled fists.
The voice that once shouted cheers
      From a coach’s bench
      Whispers final words of love.
Eyes that glowed
      With a father’s pride,
      And a husband’s devotion
            Glisten with damp sorrow.

The soft rustle
     Of angel’s wings
Grows louder now,
     Closer…
And desperate hope is
     Replaced by grim knowledge
     And the shattering
          Of fragile broken hearts.
Weakness overcomes strenth,
     Amid cries of, “Not yet…”

The soft rustle
     Of angel’s wings
Beats in exuberant joy
     As pain falls away,
          Never to be felt again.
Heavenly trumpets echo
     As the pearl gates
          Swing open.
Tender smiles,
     Gentle kisses brush
     Tear-stained cheeks –
          Not felt, but given anyway.

One last look of love lingers
     On each beloved face.
And he whispers,
      “I’ll be waiting for you…”
    
Then the soft rustle
     Of angel’s wings
                         Carries him safely home.