Last Meeting

 

My father, you were cold and grey

The last time we did meet,

You didn't speak to me at all,

Were covered in a sheet,

Your eyes were open, stared at me

But didn't see a thing,

I felt the love gush from my eyes

Like water, from a spring.

 

I thought that you were hiding,

That you'd played some trick on me,

That presently you'd jump on out

The way it used to be,

We'd laugh about it then for years

And mother would join in,

But still you lay, ignoring me,

The silence growing thin.

 

I touched you, and you were so cold,

So icy lying there,

I felt the chill surrounding me,

The chill of your cold stare,

And where the wit I'd grown to love,

The wisdom you had shown?

You answered in your silence then,

'You must go home alone!'

 

I never thought I'd see the day

When you were not around,

Set in the background of my life,

Your comments, so profound,

I left a part of me behind

With you, once you had gone,

'Last meeting' was not yesterday;

Your Death's now Twenty One!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I am deeply touched by this poem, reminded of the depths of feeling for my own father - a father that I hold no memories of, just dreams of what I wish could have been. Sadly, he departed when I was four; and I have never gotten over the loss. I always feel a void, an ache, a longing within, a sorrow over what could have been but will never be.

Your words always evoke emotion. I love you for that.

Linda Marie

[Tate Morgan]

Where he connected you to the past going back through antiquity You carry him into the future granting him immortality

[Norma J. Jessee]

David, it is seldom that you show this side of you, but when you do you make a powerful
statement. Emotionally Powerful. Your words captivate your readers and prove that not
only do you have an awesome gift for storytelling but that you have an intuitive grasp of
the emotional tragedies of everyday life. and that creates a bond with your readers.

[raining]

You are a good writer.

The coma placement, might want to change some of those. Hard to do I know when it is your own work. But that was the main thing I noticed. "like water, from a spring." you dont need the coma there, other places too, It might impede the flow somewhat. I had a second or two where I wasn't sure what "now Twenty one refered to. That could have just been me.

The poem is very strong however, and of course the sincerity, the narrative truth is part of your style, however the poem at the end seems to need something that drives home the power of the rest of the poem. It is a VERY GOOD poem however. So thanks.....raining. Keep on keeping on.

I have friends who live in Tasmania, in Hobart.

[C.T. Bailey]

There is no comfort even after twenty-one. I have yet to find comfort either. My heart and thoughts are with you. Recalling our father's memories is a bitter-sweet experience. Sweet fondness, bitter emptiness. Peace to you my friend.