We do not mourn the sorrows
When we have braved the day,
Crusaded into the great tomorrow
The tragedies died along the way
Of natural causes.
We mourn our losses, the staggering weight
Of all that didn’t cross over the bar,
Our capacity for joy, unfulfilled fates,
Tiny moments twinkling like brilliant stars
Now far out of reach.
We mourn the breach.
Nearly noon, but my little ones
Flounce about with nightgowns on
And whisper secrets urgently
While giggling out their symphonies.
They work together with tiny hands
Building tiny, fanciful, foreign lands
Of talking ponies, bears, and beasts,
Cooking huge, fantastic feasts.
All the wild world outside these walls
Spins and misses the best view of all:
Two small girls in tangled tresses
Playing in their sleeping dresses.
Who can restore the former glory?
The young sing and dance
Around this shell, this crude reminder,
They call beauty, as entranced.
Who would rob the hopeful babes,
Let beauty be seen where it can,
But we who held our temple proud
Will weep to the very last man.
Who can restore the former glory
Once it has been defaced?
Who can restore the innocence
Our aged hands debased?
Long and familiar, these nights arrive,
And I know the morning sun will sting.
Tomorrow I will fail to do, fail to thrive,
Because this night brings
Wide-eyed wakefulness.
It isn’t from fear or discontent,
Just mindfulness aware, satisfied
To let my sleep dissent
From the ruling rest that gratifies
Weary flesh.
What I have here
Is real, is good,
Is more than I should,
Above what I feared.
What I’ve held all these years
I’ve carried alone
I knew, on my own
My phantom wasn’t so dear.
Now I know the need is near
To cut the suture,
Kill the hope, free the future,
Burn the path clear.
To whom shall I confess this sin?
Who could understand why I, initially,
Preserved this love so artificially?
Why I persevered since then?
I swallowed the idea of you, when
All the world was lost, was dead,
The hope of you somehow fed
All I hoped could be, had been.
You trumped the worst of men
With quiet strength, faith, loyalty.
You were my royalty.
I would have died again, and again,
Death, separation, goodbye,
The best I could give, or you could receive,
Falling muted as an autumn leaf
Caught in the wind’s last sigh.
One hundred public admissions
Confessions, contrition,
Professions, transitions,
Hesitant at first, but resistance
Gives way to persistence-
An outward existence
From quiet submissions.
You’ve been waiting over an hour now,
If you’re still waiting there at all.
I haven’t even moved an inch-
I’d be grateful just to crawl.
While up and down the smokers waltz,
Sucking their Pall Malls.
Sitting still inside this heat,
My children dripping sweat,
Time slips into ridiculous.
Has it been two hours yet?
And all the world revolves, revolves,
But I haven’t moved a step.
You’re waiting now,
While I’m stuck here.
I’m not allowed
To drive any nearer.
I’m concerned with the longevity
And reasons for our lull.
I’ve no mode of connectivity
To tell you we are stalled.
Our battery is out of breath.
Windows all roll down,
But before us could be death,
And sorrows that compound.
Awaiting tragedy arrayed-
Saying a prayer for things I don’t know.
Our colorful caravan is stayed-
Pretty maids all in a row.
I type the keys, each letter rings
As piano notes all in ebony,
And I sing
I sing along.
I’ve walked the stanzas, stalked
Definitions until I balked
And revised
And refused.
This weeping language, seeping
Into all, still keeping me
Enthralled
And grounded.
My dead playmates, but I read
All the things they said
While they lived,
And I agreed.
I agreed.
Fool that I am
How many times I
Forget by and by
Learn the same lesson again
And again.
Fool that I was
How often refusing
To listen, still choosing
Ignorance because
I could.
Fool I will be
If I cannot remember
The cold of December
Passes to heat,
And seasons repeat.
viewingcamelot 