Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
I still hold her hand
Across time itself,
I remember cold winter days
And her dwindling health.
I watched her wither
For she could not breathe.
The air she needed
Was not received.
Then she left us all,
And the hurt was deep.
Now she only visits me
While I’m asleep.
She missed my children born,
And now their own.
As she slumbers silently,
Far from home.
Although the world moved on.
My hearts still tethered
To when I held her hand
Through the winter weather.
Upon the bank of a winding river,
That snaked its way
Through the Wildflower Valley,
Beneath the swaying branches
Of ancient willow trees,
A dreamer sat alone.
Glassy-eyed.
Silent.
Sullen.
Though songbirds filled the air with music,
And a brilliant blue sky stretched overhead,
Tears welled within their eyes.
Their bare feet skimmed
The river’s surface.
Large blue and yellow fish rose and splashed.
Waterfowl drifted gently upon the current.
Sweet floral scents
Rolled down from the meadows beyond.
Yet none of it reached them.
The dreamer wiped their eyes
And lay back among soft silver ferns.
Unable to take comfort
In the beauty of that moment.
For they had known loss.
And all the wonders
Of the Dream Continent
Could not outweigh
The sorrow carried within their heart.
For a time they remained there,
Listening to the river,
Watching clouds drift overhead.
Then slowly they rose.
With measured steps
They crossed the wildflower fields,
Trailing their fingers
Across blossoms of every colour.
The lighthouse stood waiting in the distance.
Beyond it,
A boat waited upon the shore.
A vessel bound
For the waking world.
The dreamer boarded silently.
And the Dream Continent faded behind them.
They soon awoke within their bed.
Morning light filtered through the window.
Their hand remained clenched.
Slowly, they opened it.
Resting in their palm
Was a single wildflower,
Brilliantly coloured,
And impossibly real.
This is not a place of joy.
No lead-light windows offer comfort here.
You do not return here for such things.
This is a palace of sorrow,
Bought and paid for in grief.
It is upon me now.
I can feel it.
I see it in every movement,
Slow,
Deliberate,
Forced.
My answers grow short.
My gaze grows distant.
The world recedes.
I have no need for conversation.
Whatever you’re offering,
Holds no interest.
Your words fall upon deaf ears.
You are of no consequence here.
For this is my place.
My woe.
My mourning.
I’ve been me so many times now,
That I am lost in the echoes of myself;
I hear them calling, hear them calling,
From beyond the weeping gate.
There the shadows kneel in silence,
Wearing masks I abandoned in softer years,
Their mouths stitched shut with old confessions,
Their eyes like drowned lanterns beneath black water.
They beckon without movement,
A congregation of former griefs,
Gathered where memory rots in black corridors,
And time hangs damp with suffering.
The house within me has grown cavernous,
Its stairways descending into impossible rooms
Where sorrow sits upright beside the fire,
A patient dust covered harbinger of grief.
It knows me by every mask I have worn,
Calls each by name in the language of mourning,
And pours black wine into trembling hands
That no longer remember which flesh is mine.
I hear them calling, hear them calling,
The selves I starved, the selves I feared,
The silent twins of all my failures,
Their fingers pale upon the rusted latch.
Beyond the weeping gate they gather,
Neither wholly dead nor wholly memory,
Waiting where the dark folds inward,
Where sorrow flowers into sullen shapes.
For doom has lived beside me always,
A patient guest seated near the fire,
Its hands folded neatly in shadow,
Its smile thin as winter beneath the skin.
It speaks not of endings but of returning,
Of circles drawn in grief and dust,
Until I no longer know if I am haunted,
Or merely wandering the ruins of myself.
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.
Too many nights,
My hands cover my eyes.
I’m not ashamed to cry
As I think of you.
Saying goodbye
Is the hardest thing
I have ever had to do.
What do I say
To the one
Who gave me everything?
Sleep now.
Sleep,
And be at peace.
I cannot chase
These monsters away,
The way you once
Chased them from me.
I don’t have that power.
I love you.
Please suffer no more.
You’re so tired.
Please…
Rest.
When my time comes,
I’ll find you again.
And we will hold each other,
The way we once did.
A light for millions has gone out, leaving us in the dark,
Your music helped countless people to carry on,
To get up each day, inspiring us, helping us to cope,
Father figure to those who needed one,
A comfort to those struggling to find some hope,
A soundtrack to lives, a bond we can’t untie,
Even though your passing has left a hole in the sky,
Rest now in peace, while we all mourn,
Thank you for being you, Ozzy Osbourne.
Your everyday smile,
Warm and genuine,
A source of light,
I watched helplessly,
As hers was erased,
The day you had to go.
Let’s stay here for a while,
Away from the crowds
And all their noise.
Sit with me
In the quiet warmth of the sunshine.
Hold my hand
And know that I love you.
If I have gone,
This is how to find me.
Sit quietly beneath a fine tree.
Close your eyes gently.
Scrunch your toes into the grass.
Feel the breeze upon your face.
Can you smell the garden?
Can you hear the birds?
Take a breath.
Smile in the sunlight.
And I will be right beside you.
We can sit here
For as long as you like.
I may no longer be able
To hold your hand,
But when the breeze moves through the trees,
When the birds begin to sing,
When sunlight warms your face,
Remember me.
I am there
In the quiet.
And know,
I loved you.
I remember when you used to smile,
Before everything became too much.
I wish I could bring back the inner light,
That once bloomed so bright within you.
Before the struggles,
Before your fears,
Back when everything made sense,
Before the mourning and the tears.
I remember when you used to smile,
Before everything became too much.