Monday
Darkness falls like heavy rain,
colouring the dormant landscape obsidian,
a pall upon the earth . . .
In lavender hues, the nightshades bloom
As shadows dance inside a room, where he sits in his deafening silence
Dropping his cares by the bed where he lays
he closes his eyes on tomorrow
Soon the nightshade will bloom
taking him far from this room
where he sits in this silence and prays . . .
Maybe the waiting is part of some plan, with ghosts of the past drawing near
but the signs of the dawn keep him lingering on, though he can’t remember the here
and now . . .
The nightshade will weep, the north wind will cry in a world he can no longer find
from the indigo heavens above, a solitary amethyst teardrop falls,
God’s healing salve for a father’s weary mind
And the nightshade will sleep . . .
Wow! How powerful!
My thoughts are that although your writing brings me a heavy heart for you and your Dad, it also brings peace. I hope both you and he can find peace!
I believe your father’s weary mind says “Thanks Michael for being my son……a wonderful son, to me and your mother.”
The picture is beautiful and I can visualize a warm, spring morning! Maybe it’s a morning that you and your Dad played baseball!
God Bless!
beautiful, profound and sad.
i totally love the cadence of this particular piece. as usual, you rocked it.
peace, my friend…
Beautifully dark, a delicate Poe -haunting.
Your words flow beautifully. I picture your father, and understand your sadness. The images you create are powerful yet peaceful. Wonderful…
i think you must be a wonderful son xx
Still struggling to know what to say…but I needed you to know I read it all the same…..
You are so talented. I feel weird, as if I’m enjoying your pain and shouldn’t be. But I now realize that it is not exactly your pain that I’m enjoying, but the product of your expression.
beautifully said, the imagery is very powerful.
Definitely! A Guinness at O’Connors sounds wonderful!
The nightshade will weep, the north wind will cry in a world he can no longer find from the indigo heavens above, a solitary amethyst teardrop falls
Really interesting imagery, and a nice cadence too. Powerful. Your anguish is palpable.
Really, really well done, one of your best.
-smith
“Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor”.
“How do you find the defendant?”
“We find the defendant guilty of being a poet.”
-smith