The dead no longer care the view,
Whether brilliant or dull hues,
For in ashes and bone
They no longer roam.
Merely the living as they grieve
At the grave
Care the worldly display bringing comfort
Words cannot relay.
The dead no longer care the view,
Whether brilliant or dull hues,
For in ashes and bone
They no longer roam.
Merely the living as they grieve
At the grave
Care the worldly display bringing comfort
Words cannot relay.
I dreamt I was a
Little girl again,
Wearing a white prairie dress.
I came upon a lone house in the countryside
Surrounded by beautiful trees,
But the sky was dark and i was alone.
I entered the house,
Something told me it was home.
It was dingy and empty and falling apart,
Fear began to grip my heart.
I started calling my sisters name only to hear my footsteps in return.
I thought maybe to lay upon the floor and look no more
When down the stairs she
Came dressed just like me,
(The only exception being her hair of red and my hair
Of black.)
She took me by the hand and led me to
The door.
We went outside to sit and play in the dirt,
The sky now a dusty brown.
I was fearful but felt comfort in her presence.
She stopped playing suddenly and looked me in the eye to whisper
“My mommy does not like me.”
To which I replied,
“Neither does mine.”
Oh sister
My sister,
My sister how I love thee.
Come now,
Take my hand.
Let us sit under the lemon trees
In my uncles backyard.
Under the branches which bare fruit with
A bright yellow rind,
Those that beckon us to partake of
Bitterness.
Instead we will delight in the color.
Instead we will take comfort in the silence
Between us and observe fruit and
Life
For a while.
The tears.
I am my own comfort.
There is solace in the silence.
In the dark.
It is there that I lay
The ache bare.
Defenseless.
Solitaire.
My agony.
And when the bottomless torment
(Which has no name)
subsides,
I will wrap it up tight
And tuck it away.
Not to come out again until
It is too heavy and thorny
To carry in the quiet.