Bed Space

So many more will sleep upon this bed,

And most will live to see a better day;

But this – this was your final place to rest

Before the sleep of death took you away

 

You’d reconciled yourself in recent times,

Though Lord knows how, you found peace with the past —

This little space, these flimsy linen sheets,

Were all you had to comfort you at last

 

This bed space, thoughtlessly, will soon be cleaned;

New patients always come, it must be said —

But just us few, whenever we may pass,

Will think of your last days

Upon this

Bed

one too many

there is a walk we all must take
although the time be yet unknown,
besides the luminescent sea;
a place we all must walk alone

as chilly turns the living soul
into the place the story ends —
the family we leave behind,
the tales, the struggles, and the friends

who look for us, but cannot find.
the loss that is a piercing-through,
the one too many gone that makes
us wish that we were going

too

Soft The Rain Falls

Soft the rain falls
On a little girl’s dreams
As the windows streak with tears

For the mother and father she barely had:
The ghost of her Mama, the voice of her Dad —
Before she came here to be told, “don’t be sad”
In this impassive place

Still the rain beats
On the roof overhead
As her mind jumps past the years

To a festive wedding with her the bride;
Lovely, with her Daddy there by her side –
But she can’t make the face out – the love, the pride –
Nor see her Mama’s tears

Sad the wind blows
From the far mountain streams
To join with her in her plea

Soft the rain falls
On a little girl’s dreams
With nobody there

To see

The Show Goes On

The show goes on; the dead have played their part.
But still we wait for one more cue, or line:
Those ne’er said words that we have known by heart,
And memorized, as though a valentine

That we will never feel in hand, or see.
The looked for, listened for, and waited on
That will not heed our cry, or hear our plea;
For love’s most fully owned when it is gone.

The show goes on; the dead have played their role,
But there’s no point in dialogue, or mark;
You live, although you’re missing half your soul,
A sunflower within the gray and dark —

    For none of it makes any kind of sense,
    The scene, the plot, the play, the

    Audience

Once, There Was A Girl

Once, there was a girl,
Who was a person, not a picture —
And anywhere she ventured to,
My heart would also go —

But time brought days, and days revealed
The cracks in our foundation:
For whether you “find out” or not,
Eventually, you know —

Like rain upon a lake,
Our passive, commonplace,
And simple failed attempt,
Has vanished, without trace,

Except —

Today I feel the ache
Begin to slowly worsen
When someone who you loved becomes

A picture,

Not a person

“… just a season.”

“Death is just a season:
  spring turns to summer,
  summer to fall,
  and fall to winter.

They may seem slow to come,
  or late,
  but they show up,
  and they always will.

Like changing colors on
  the walls of a classroom;
  the seasons change, the colors change,
  and a new class is sitting in there soon.”

exploration

tangled fall and wind aslant
should is shouldn’t, can is can’t
up and moving, must away
find the heart, forget the day

clouds that beckon from the skies
wind that laughs, and ground that cries
soul that sorrow knows, and grows
simple devastation

mangled wall of former grief
love is long, but life is brief
up and moving, in the fields
harvesting the flow life yields

though the path be wet and cold
though the back grow weak and old
conquered fears, and heart that hears
still in

exploration

The Love That Was

The love that was, where does it go?
Why does it slip away?
She wonders, as the autumn slow
Comes drifting in with orange glow,
To keep her hopes at bay,
To keep her hopes at bay.

The love that was, why does it rage
And storm to find no port?
Just scribbled hearts upon a page,
The price of pain, the lover’s wage,
And dreams cut far too short,
And dreams cut far too short.

The love that was, why does it end?
Why should such sorrow be?
But none can ever comprehend
The ways of life and loss of friend
Or love, that endless sea —
Or love, that endless
Sea