Farewell To Daniel

Bleak sky, grey and menacing, on this winter’s morn

Icicles and snow blanket the earth

Birds are silent showing great respect; they just bow their heads

To honour his spirit now at peace

Too young and vital to depart this world

How sad to witness his family mourn – the Angels now will take good care

To protect his ‘being’ somewhere in the universe

We will remember him fondly as we say goodbye

Our glasses we will raise as high as the sky

We will watch you being embraced and cocooned

As the Angels lift you gently into their arms

Your friends will look after your dear wife

We will share our memories today with her

Don’t worry, Daniel, we will nurture her through this journey…

 

 

 

 

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Leslie

I cannot stand at your grave and weep
The priest praying and committing your decaying corpse into the earth
I didn’t know you that well, how could I, when you were distant and cold
Your doting mother adored you, even though your cruel and demented mind hurt her
No bond between us even though we were from the same mould
Maybe your madness was not your fault and I was too closed to understand
I empathise with your family at their loss, but, I cannot grieve for you
I can only pray for your soul to be nourished, made whole, and pure
As it was before the journey into your Mother’s womb…

THE GRAVEYARD

Dying Daffodils danced a slow dance in the graveyard today
I observed the changing of seasons, the yellow and white lovers’ swayed as their
energy began to fade. Making way for the next cycle of summer blooms
The walk through the village burial ground was quiet and calm
The headstones stood like temples – epitaphs stating their place on earth
The church door was open; unlikely in these times of lead thieves
Smell of must and old bones – no priest in sight
I sat and contemplated my day, my week, my life
Fragments of the past consumed my thoughts
The prodigal son – the one love; the only love
I stumbled to a pew in god’s house. I couldn’t see him. Was he hiding from all the sinners?
Hands clasped I offered myself in prayer.
He wasn’t home…

EPIPTHANY

DEPRIVED OF REST AND HOPE SHE SAT IN HER CORNER CRUMPLED LIKE A BED SHEET, JUST LIKE HER MOTHER USED TO.

DEEP SUNKEN EYES AND SALLOW SKIN, HAIR KNOTTED AND SMELLING OF SMOKE AND LIQUOR.

USED NEEDLES SCATTERED ACROSS HER HELL-HOLE; SHE KNEW NO BETTER.

BETH WAS LONG GONE; THEY CAME AND TOOK HER AWAY ONE GREY JANUARY DAY.

SCREAMING LIKE A BANSHEE; MY CHILD, MY CHILD.

SUNDAY WAS ALWAYS A BAD DAY; NO ONE CAME AND NO ONE CARED.

HER LIFE BEFORE HAD BEEN FULL OF TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS BUT, SHE WAS HAPPY.

SHE SERVED HER PURPOSE AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. MEMORY FADED NOW. LIFE HAS BECOME A CURSE.

TAKE THIS POOR SOUL BACK TO BEFORE CONCEPTION. RE-CREATE HER DNA – MAKE HER WHOLE AGAIN.

THE RAIN PATTERED ON THE BROKEN WINDOWS, THE ROAR OF THE ROAD OUTSIDE WAS DEAFENING.

HEAD BOWED INTO HER SUNKEN CHEST, SHE CLASPED HER HANDS TOGETHER IN PRAYER AND ASKED FOR A SIGN.

SILENCE, LIKE A GRAVEYARD…UNTIL, DEEP INSIDE HER SUB-CONSCIENCE SHE HEARD A CELESTIAL VOICE. LOOK WITHIN YOUR SOUL FOR THE

ANSWER…

LOST CHILD

His face is a blur these days, akin to a 12 week fetus scan – smoky edges, grey and uncertain

No voice anymore, silence in this quiet abyss. His mischievous character still haunts me, his feral days of high jinks and madness were part of his charm

Golden hair and steely blue eyes, although I hear he’s receding now, just like his grandfather

He was gifted a piece of the moon by an adoring girlfriend, she’s now disappeared, just like all the others’

The beauties came and went in a flash, until…the harridan cast her spell upon the weakest element of his soul

She cursed him with her offer of lust, no man can refuse. Locked on to her bony hands, the grip like a vice…got him!

The Roman harlot has won the race – he; dragging his feet, always last in her race of control and power. She plays the victim and promises taking him to dizzy heights

Poor child, he’s lost. The road is long, perpetual, how will he know the way back?

Will a robin tweet and sing or flowers bloom early for spring. Will an Angel appear in the night, giving him hope and inner foresight

For now, I’m told by a celestial being – when the boy becomes a man, his hand will fit the glove of courage and return to his umbilical roots.