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A crowd is there;
they fill the room.
The space adorned with open bloom.
Need of goodbyes
and whispered cries.
Kneels at the casket, tears in her eyes.
Her gentle touch
to the lying sleeve.
Love to departed as she does grieve.
Loss of her friend.
Her tears descend.
Too soon departed, too soon to end.
Hurting husband,
pain filled son.
The sorrowed hugs given to each one.
The sad slow walk;
the tear drenched talk,
amid sob of flower and cry of stalk.
A standing man
with open book.
The bow of heads with downward look.
Some words of prose.
The sadness grows
within daggered hearts within seated rows.
Beyond distraught,
beyond all thought.
Yet all contained in a sad onslaught.
Why is it so?
Why did she go?
Nobody answers, nobody knows.
Talk of higher powers
but sadness devours
amid sob of Rose and torment of flowers.
How could this be?
Why was it she?
Eyes choked with pain, and unanswered plea.
Then the standing man
closes up his book
amid the daggered hearts and crushed downward looks.
More sad slow walks
towards the wooden box.
Anguished scream of flower, agony of stalks.
Her pain still flows.
Her pain still grows
amid her tears to casket and her last touch to Rose.
2. “When the Spirits Come”
When the spirits come, all those we love
who have gone beyond or gone above
When we feel their presence, close, unseen.
When they come what does it mean?
Oh spirits what do you portend?
Is my life on earth now near its end?
You have come to me, now here me plead.
Give me the answers that I need!
I feel, oh spirits, such great fear.
When I feel your presence and I know you’re near.
Why won’t you answer me, so crisp, and clear
and prove to me you’re here?
When the spirits come, to us at night.
Or in our dark of heart on a clear days light.
When we feel their presence, close, unseen.
When they come what does it mean?
I beg you spirits talk to me.
Tell me spirits what do you see?
Is it that I am close to death?
Am I near my final breath?
Yes dear spirits I do feel your love.
And you wrap me warm as hand in glove.
I know inside that you won’t harm me.
Now please give me eyes that see.
When the spirits come, all those we love
who have gone beyond or gone above.
Why is it they won’t hear us plead
and give the answers that we need?
Love and pain
Sun and rain
Day and night
And Inner sight
Plea full
Gleeful
Joyful
Peaceful
Yes, now I know my way.
I know that every life has its own story.
And a tune within of pain and glory.
I can feel dear spirits what it is you say.
It is now as clear as day.
Every note within its measure
All the sorrow and the pleasure
Every note sung upon a staff
And each word has its paragraph
So live your life and cry and laugh
Yes I know now what you say
When one page comes to a stop
another one begins on top.
Thank you spirits now I see
any tune can change its key
When the spirits come, to us at night.
Or in our dark of heart on a clear days light.
When our spirits are near and the end feels strange
It could be time for us to change.
Spirits, I will write my word.
And you will sing to me just as a bird.
Your love is always in my heart
and we will never part.
Spirits please now sing my tune
and give to me the light of moon.
Life, dear spirits is what you say!
And every life an act of play.
I can write the word you will sing my tune.
Thank you spirits!
See you soon!
When the spirits come, all those we love
who have gone beyond or gone above.
When we feel their presence, and we love and grieve.
We get to choose what we believe.
(posted at the original ‘poem me back’ blog)
Can you see?
Can you see?
Have you lived through
lonely times there in the dark?
When everything feels cold
and your future bleak and stark?
Have you ever felt the pain of loss?
Have your tears flowed in a stream?
Was there anything you’ve come across
that shattered hope and dream
and made you scream…
made you scream?
Are there times you sit alone
and your hopes and dreams are gone;
life surrounds you with the kings and queens
and you are just a pawn?
Then comes dawn?
Then comes dawn.
Have you lived through times
of learning in the night?
If you’re never touched by darkness
can you ever know the light?
Sitting silently inside
the lonely warmth of your cocoon
have you ever even tried
to call the tune…
or touch the moon?
Touch the moon.
Can you see?
Can you see?
Have you felt the cold and chill of death
that tears you life apart?
Have you ever met an ending
that was just another start
for your heart?
For your heart.
Did you ever reach for beauty
or is life just filled with duty?
Did you ever even try
to reach up for the sky
and just fly?
Just fly.
Have you lived through times
of learning in the dark?
If you’re never touched by sadness
can you find an inner spark?
Have you ever had to face
your deepest darkest fright,
then as the shooting star
that streaks across the night,
the inner sight?
Inner sight.
Can you see?
Can you see?
Slan agat, Celtic Mist
This volume has some upsetting stuff in it. That “Last Touch to Rose” was first posted with a warning to let people know that it might be something they should avoid. It was tough getting through the actual funeral it describes with that poetic description going on in my head during it all.
It seemed like all these poems are related in a way. I guess this is a “loss, sadness and learning” volume and I should label it like that for now so that people know more about what’s in here.
OY
The day returns;
is new and old
The day returns;
some past retold.
To ever touch in never’s fold
in breath and gasp
and heat.
The ever touch
of longings hold
of never heart complete.
The day returns;
is new and old
The day returns
as past foretold.
And living in a world of earth,
in seeking of a timeless worth.
And as the clutch
of life and new
and as the rush in moist of dew
in tears of touch
upon the yew
in ever hush
when day is through.
The day returns
as time finite
in dark within the morning light.
Within the dark
of spark
ignite
the day returns
to word
and write.
To place the past upon a shelf
as book alone of never touch
is to never learn the life of self
or pass on the lives that meant so much.
To again the warmth of winter sun
in short of day and snowy glitter.
To again the past where children run,
those times of joy or breezes bitter.
Connections past
of voice or song.
Known scent of flower
from past day and hour.
The life connection that makes us strong.
The past we have;
it is life’s power.
To again the warmth of winter sun.
To again the things, as we learn at last.
As the parents with their children run,
we create the future by the touch of past.