Poetry
Blue windbreaker in the graveyard
Holding tight to the headstone but it's so hard
Bouquet of memories
Over a shoulder blade
Branches woven In tears.
The pain cuts deep but
you are not too far from the living
I fear.
As death do us part is
spoken
So much can be taken or given away
gravely
Quickly
haphazardly
Without syncopation
or
Subtle ness
Deaths kiss
But not do we part like waves
On strands
harshly?
Or that of a mother to her child grasping
Or a father to his son
playing ball
Fumbling
Or the grandmother to her brother
Laughing all the while
While stumbling
Over
When the vintage automobile
Reflects in chrome
A song close to home
Rolling by.
A memory
Relief
We only bother to care
when it is all snatched away by
the spectre
When the husk shrivels
or the blade of grass burns
The seed splits
And the leaves
crumble.
Learn do we?
Loss
Ever?
To see not the setting sun
In the pain
Radiant giant creating a horizon of
Infinite hearts
full and drunk on beauty
And the letters of lost love are yellowed
Upon the blankets
Keepsakes of
forgetfulness.
The quilted memory with squares
Containing rotting fruit and perfect
Pink flesh
Tender and fallible yet
Resilient to the
touch.
This scene is the farewell
To time- the banners unfolding
The given away
In antique clocks
With springs and weights
And pieces without further
Function in
ill repair
Estate sales
Despair lingers awhile
and the porch swing moves as it once did
Alone in solitude
With the seated body
Once sat seated
gazing upon the dimly lit
night street
The silence is often
overwhelming
Somewhere between
the tunnel
hollow
And the heavenly host singing
For you silently
In the complete dark
and cavernous
soul.
Francis A Willey
March 28 2015