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A Poetic Healing

Explore a page of emotional healing, through the words of poetry author, Kat Copeland. Decorate your home with intricate pieces of the arts and add to your treasured literary collection in the shop. Enjoy weekly blog posts of poems dripping with emotion. Each poem is a rhythmic cadence, easy to digest. Embrace a new contagious passion for poetry’s genre.

 
 
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A Mortal Angel

On March 2nd, our Father embraced one of his treasured children, and this world grieved for a mortal angel. While He loves us all dearly, I imagine there are few He embraces in sheer pride. The golden children, whose lives were spent in service of others, angels without wings, who left an impact.


I have tried to write this many times. The heartache inside me is too great for poetic perfection, my words will not dance across this page and into your heart. No, they drip from my fingers, like the tears off my chin. It is a common saying, “The world is a lesser place without them”, though these words simply cannot ring louder than with the loss of her precious soul. I believe wholeheartedly, God is bringing home His angels, for this world is not good enough for them anymore. And with each one who leaves us, our storms are brewing in intensity for they are not here to calm them.


It’s hard to reason with heartache. I would never wish her to stay, though the lingering sadness inside me is a painful battle to withstand. Her life was long and beautiful, she left this world in peace, with loved ones by her side. And yet, I cannot reason with my heartache. It’s selfish to not rejoice in her life, I wish I could simply marry my words in harmony for all the stories I could tell. Things she taught me and my babies. How drastically she impacted my life in the short time God blessed me with her. And yet, I cannot. The words catch in my throat, clog in my mind, and fail to flow through my fingertips across this keyboard.


How do you write about an angel? As mortal eyes are not fit to gaze upon their celestial beauty, our vocabulary is simply not advanced enough to construct words capable of describing them.


Ms. Marilyn was another definition of kind than we know. She had no envy, anger, spite, impatience, or any other downfall we each feature. She was passionate. About her family, home, her beloved Buddy, neighbors, faith, and hobbies. Another definition of passionate. Her passion for a single hobby was enough to make one envious. And yet her passion was seemingly endless in all aspects of her life.


She was an extraordinarily talented painter, I have a cherished piece of her artwork in my living room. A priceless piece not only for the person who painted it and the memory it holds, but for the passion and patience that radiate from each brush stroke of its scene. She instilled a love for arts and crafts in my sweet Jo Jo, who instilled it in my Mia.


She was a passionate reader. One of my most treasured memories of her is gazing upon her holding Mia in her lap as she read to her. Today, Mia reads on a fourth grade level. In first grade she reads chapter books. She has a deep rooted passionate love of reading and words. It was her and her daughter who first encouraged me to write. She is a cornerstone in my literary passion.


She was a passionate gardener. She upheld the most beautiful flower beds in our neighborhood, tenderly caring for them herself in pride and joy. I sadly did not learn from her in this regard. I continue to kill all manor of plants that are unfortunate enough to catch my eye and interest. She gifted me an aloe vera plant once. She kindly declared with a smile, “Don’t worry, you cannot kill it”. I knocked it into a sink full of bleach water, and she never gifted me another plant 🤦‍♀️


My babies spent countless hours and days at her house when we lived in Utah. She would throw balls in the yard with Jax, cook for them, take them on walks, listen with intent to their school day stories, sing to them, and never ceased to miss a moment of educating my babies, with wisdom and love only a grandmother can bestow.


She was the hardest worker in every aspect of life. I did not know her in her youth, though from observance in our short time together, I can declare in surety she never faltered in her obligations no matter how tired or run down this life may have left her. Despite the common saying, she has been laid to rest, I know, this sweet woman is not at rest. She inquired immediately of needed duties upon meeting our beloved Savior. I know she went straight to work, eagerly, and with joy in her heart and swift speed in her step that was made whole again. That my friends, is the closest definition to an angel this poet can give. A soul that never ceases to give, never falters in effort, a heart that loves unconditionally and unbiasedly. Angels are hard to come by in this life, and we mourn deeply for them.


I once told her, my love for her was so devout, I believed I vowed to find her in this life when we parted in heaven. And I vowed I would once again find her in the sky when this life had ended.


Until that sweet day my friend.

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