The Thames on a Sunday

I sat beside the Thames on a Sunday,

The fling of my feet was a childish reflection,

The rotting wood pier a mirror of a stage,

But this time, the balcony held only Chevys

Exchanging pigments as they passed me by.

My sole spectator is a murky impression,

A visage of a woman trapped in the current

With her two feet tethered to mine at the ankles.

She doesn’t know that this is a funeral,

That I read the eulogy out loud in my head,

The cityscape whistled forgotten hymns,

And the sirens wailed like the echo of church bells

Reaping the moments that bloom and decay.

I laid to rest my guitar on the river bank,

Sand and silt filled the scars on its body

And suppressed the last odes that could pass through its strings.

Author's Note

I recently quit the group I had been playing with for the past three years. After the emotions passed, I thought it was time to sit down and write myself a poem.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Parting is not death, but it is still a loss, and often there will be grief. That is what I think we are seeing in this offering. It is the beginning of a reorientation, a facing of the future when the past is still very much alive. But all things change, and we learn to adapt to the changes.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

It is a beautiful ode to letting go and moving forward. The dual image was captivating and really centered this piece. A reflection really says so much in message. A wonderful and heartfelt piece of poetry Peyton. Thank you for sharing.