Today arrived like unfamiliar weather, a strange sky stitched from joy and melancholy, an emotional cocktail I could not name, sweet on the tongue, bitter at the edges, leaving me wandering the quiet chambers of myself.
My granddaughter, how can something so small, confuse the structure of a grown man’s heart?
To see her smile, to hold her warm against me, to kiss that angelic softness of her face, to meet those impossible eyes as they searched mine with solemn curiosity, a gaze not yet burdened by disappointment, not yet taught to look away.
I am undone in her presence.
The great walls I spent years building, brick by bitter brick, those fortresses of caution and survival, fall soundlessly around me. Laid waste by tiny fingers, by laughter still learning its own shape, by the unbearable innocence of trust.
And yet, strangely, joy enters carrying melancholy by the hand.
Why?
Why does happiness arrive and make me feel unworthy of its touch? Why, standing in the warmth of love, do I instinctively search for shadow?
Perhaps it is fear.
The quiet distance I feel from my own children lingers like weather between mountains, and somewhere inside me a frightened voice whispers, one day, perhaps, this too.
Will she drift beyond my reach as time gathers speed? Will I become another fading figure in photographs touched by dust?
I want her to think well of me, as I think of my own grandfather, whose memory still stands, like an old tree against a changing sky, steady, kind, impossible to replace.
And maybe I am afraid, afraid of failing at something so desperately important.
Afraid that love, once given, may somehow not be enough.
Or perhaps the melancholy comes from feeling time itself moving through me, the quiet ache of growing older, of sensing relevance soften at the edges, of wondering whether one becomes less central to the story of a family without ever noticing the moment it happens.
Yet Willow, dear, impossible Willow, you are perfection.
And I love you with a force I did not believe remained in me, a forgotten chamber of the heart suddenly flung open to light.
My dark heart worries endlessly, yes, it circles storms that may never come, counts losses before they exist, remembers suffering too well.
But perhaps…
perhaps all the torment, all the years of stumbling through shadow, all the grief carried quietly like stone, were for those stolen moments we shared today:
to see my daughter happy, steady in her own becoming, to witness the love they have built, to hold in trembling hands the fragile proof that tenderness survives.
Maybe this, this small girl with searching eyes, this impossible softness, this fierce ache of love, was waiting at the far end of all my sorrow.
And if she was my purpose here, if all roads bent quietly toward this moment, toward Willow,
Her eyes shine through my darkness like galaxies, Starfields illuminating the darkest reaches of my being, Ancient constellations stitched through wounds left unnamed, Their silver language quieting the storms that I hide in my mind, In Amber’s gaze, the night bends softly toward mercy, And even the shadows seem reluctant to remain, For where her light gathers, forgotten chambers awaken, Dust-covered hopes stirring like embers beneath cold ash.
I have grown cold, hardened by loss and the ravages of time, Hued from cold black granite, weather-beaten, broken but true, A monument shaped by tempests no hand could shelter me from, Edges worn by grief, yet refusing surrender to ruin, The years have carved their silence deep into my bones, Leaving echoes where warmth once lingered unafraid, Yet beneath the stone, beneath the fractures and the frost, Some forgotten ember in me leans still toward her distant fire.
For she is with me, and I with her, eternity will have to wait, We dance together at the edge of the deep green ocean of sleep, Where dreams drift like drowned stars beneath a moonless tide, And silence folds around us like velvet curtains drawn by unseen hands, The dark no longer hollow, but rich with whispered tenderness, My bride’s breath is a lantern glowing faintly against endless dusk, As though time itself pauses to watch our fragile orbit turn, Two weathered souls suspended between ruin and becoming.
Should morning call us back with its pale and restless hands, Still I shall carry her constellations beneath my fractured ribs, A hidden firmament burning softly through granite and grief, For love, once kindled in darkness, learns the language of enduring.
You had such sensitive ways, a kindness and gentility, In the beginning you were so small and afraid of the world, But you overcame this, sharing the warmth of a hunded suns, Like very few others, you were our shooting star, Shining so very bright, but sadly, fading out far too quickly.
The stars in the sky are like the people around you, The dim kind are many, and the bright kind are few, Some stars only shine brighter in their galactic abode, Surrounded by dim ones who watched them explode, So, create your own place in the night sky above, And fill it with bright stars, the kind that you love.
Let’s stay here for a while, Away from the crowds and sounds, Sit with me in quiet warm sunshine, Hold my hand, and know I love you, If I have gone, this is how to find me, Sit quietly under a fine tree, Gently close your eyes, Scrunch your toes in the grass, Feel the breeze on your face, Can you smell the garden around you, Are you hearing the sound of birds, Take a breath, and smile in the sun, And I will be right beside you, We can sit for as long as you like, Although I can’t hold your hand, Know I loved you.
In the embrace of the full moon, she is radiant, Raven haired, beautiful and untouchable, Her pale skin shimmers in the midnight bloom, Stars dance like fireflies within her dark eyes, Her lips are supple and beguiling in the moonlight, Her sweet floral perfume, is a powerful intoxicant, Even if the earth was ablaze with fire and chaos, It would take but a momentary stolen glance, And the slight hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth, To become ensnared in a trap that no man willingly escapes, Just watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, Generates a passionate warmth kindled deep within, Without saying a word, without even the slightest touch, La Dame Du Clair De Lune bewitches and enraptures, Her mere presence is pure opium for the senses, And within a death-like silence, she will leave you wanting, Wanting for the love of a heart that you will never have.
I woke up in the dark today, and I felt your absence more than ever, Today, you should have been here with loved ones, like you wanted to, Laughing at all of my aches and pains as I too grow older, I am already past the age that you were never able to reach, What started with a cough, made you but a hazy memory to some, A washed-out polaroid, scanned in for future generations to see, I can’t have you on my wall, it still hurts me to my core to see you, But I will make them all see you, I will make them remember you, Your face only appears in tired photos, but I still see you clearly, When I see my eyes in the mirror, or those of my babies, I see yours, Nothing will ever break me like it did when your time was up, I lost part of me that cold July day, and it is irretrievable, New life is arriving, a beautiful brutal reminder of legacy and heartbreak, You taught me strength, kindness and gentility, encouraged art and poetry, You were loving, gentle and funny, and a demon in the defence of your family, Although life goes on, I remember you still, and I say your name aloud, I keep you in my impenetrable heart, safe and protected, as you eternally sleep.
Dan Verkys 