IT IS YOU.

IN MOURNING FOR A LOST SON.

It is you
whom I seek
in the long hours
of the night.

It is you
whom I wait for
in the dawn’s
dull light.

It is your voice
I listen for
in all bird’s song;
thought you
were for always;
I was wrong.

I want to hear
your laughter,
chuckle and wit,
but though I listen,
there’s not one bit.

There is
the loud laughter
of world and ways,
and pointless chat;
but we close it off;
want none of that.

I feel along the clothes
that you once wore;
but nothing is the same
as it was before.

His ashes are here,
the dame said,
soft tones,
but blunt words,
reminding me,
that you are dead.

Sure the world goes on,
turns blindly
on its way,
come night
dark and cold,
come dull day.

Sure the days will pass
and others’ appetites
and passions burn,
but it is you,
and your being
here again,
for which,
my son,
I yearn.

Reviews

[PearlPoet]

I read this poem yesterday and for some reason I just couldnt find the words to tell you how moving this is..
I dont have the words today either but I felt the need to tell you that this is a beautifully crafted tribute to your son... Bravo dear Poet, bravo!

[Terry Collett]

Thank you. PearlPoet.

[Penlady]

Ha!Ha! "Better, out than in!" I agree. With those words, I pictured my two grammas, two very different women but with that generational kind of (matter of fact) attitude and matching colloquial...always coming right out with it! Writing talent like yours affords a lifelong therapy session for you and enlightenments for your readers...

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Penlady.

[Penlady]

With this one I'm crying...for Ollie, for YOU Terry and for me and for the loss I feel in your sharing...I miss, I miss, I miss, my dear ones too...The "in the middle of the night," writing you are doing is mining the depths of your feelings..

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Pemlady. Better out than in my late mother used to say. I find writing a kind of therapy even if it will be a long drawn out one.