Tired from the day, she’s still and cold.
Tired from the blood she’s carried.
Long life past, now she’s old.
Now far from demons she’s long buried.
No regrets, her own grown strong,
They’ll find a new grave to carry
Her to where she can rest from demons wake,
From the words of death she spake,
From what she carried for so long,
So her own to demons pacts
Would not be sold.
Or so I’m told.
She takes this secret to her grave.
The children know of what she gave,
But not of sacrifices made.
Posted in Life and death
Tagged blood, buried, chidren, demon, grave, life, lion, lioness, poetry, rest, sacrifice, sleep, tired, wake
The world is dark and dim and shifting,
Beneath a quiet shell uplifting.
In the silence one was calling
She stopped to listen…
Heard leaves falling.
Almost footsteps, ones behind her.
Turned to look and heard survivors,
Still living echos of her own,
So cold and far away from home.
On her way, walking faster now.
Down a path to the edge of town,
Where the world, dark and dimming,
In its shadows with mysteries brimming.
None may see her final flight,
If safely home, or had to fight.
Those footsteps she once heard before,
Were her own, but something more.
For reaching from her twilight shadow,
Her reflection from graves shallow.
Grasping at her ankles so,
It may not have to let her go.
Then turning slowly back to see
What has gripped so desperately,
Then looking into that shadows face,
None but her own would take its place.
She is it, and it the shadow.
The day is done and she’s left hollow.
The world is dark and dim and shifting.
Beneath this shell that is uplifting,
There is one, who in silence calls,
Waiting for another, who, listening, falls.
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged dim, echo, edge, Fall, grasp, grave, poetry, quiet, reach, shadow, shallow, shell, survivor, town, world
The old, too tired to dig the graves
Required by their sons they couldn’t save.
Left behind instead of leaving,
There is a sorrow first conceiving
Anger, and then the bitter taste
Of youths absence, such a waste.
We’re left to linger, this should not be!
This day was meant for younger eyes than me!
In this evening there are no words.
In this moment the past and future confer,
And those who remain will be loved a little more,
We’ll hold them closer than we ever did before.
This was written in dedication to my friend who recently lost her youngest son. I’ve seen too many children buried by their parents in my time and it’s always a tragedy and never easier to deal with.
Posted in Life and death
Tagged bury, children, death, grave, hold, life, linger, love, old, parent, poetry, sorrow, waste, youth
Once forgotten all is laid
To rest and in the grave.
He profits nothing from the past
There’s nothing there of what lasts.
If it cannot get him through the day
It might as well be locked away.
To be sure there’s beauty there,
Joy and freedom, all but rare,
And mixed up in times shifting sands.
Irretrievable! They’re left to this desolate land!
He awakens the next day none the wiser.
Or is he now he won’t dredge the desert to find her?
I’ll leave that question to philosophers who will,
Debate his morality while sitting on a hill.
Posted in Time
Tagged desert, forgotten, grave, hill, joy, memory, mind, philosopher, poetry, profit, sand, time
Who knows what today will bring,
My painful, mourning, anthem sings.
Is there truth that lies beyond,
In the saddness of this song?
So far so good some say is fine,
Though I dream of another kind.
A day that does not find me weary,
The spoken word I hear so clearly,
So tired of this fate befallen,
Waiting for my doom so called in.
To reach out and grasp the rope,
That lifts me higher towards such hope.
But to reach is hard, and my burden heavy,
What if my hands were to fail me?
“What If” reads the stone ‘ore my grave,
That lies open. Will I be saved?
Not for as long as I here lay,
With open arms simply waiting to be saved.
The calling of the crows
Said you were alone,
I’ll take you back to my home,
Hidden under a stone.
Clear skies or rain,
I’m waiting again.
I’m beyond the end of pain,
Where you’re then taken.
Of you, time might forget;
Of this I seldom wonder.
After that, what’d you expect?
When you are placed there under,
The feet of those who come after.
Once you’re laid with those before,
In the silence of the rafters,
In our house of worms and gore.