Death's Caress

A caress from beyond the grave.

 

Death's Caress

 

papa

how I long to

walk

in the moonlight 

under your

magic garden's

magnolia trees

 

like we used to

every spring

with your golden

retriever

 

I'd hold buttercup's

leash so you could

cut off several flowers

with your old buck knife

 

thoughts of santa

would twirl through my

imagination

everytime I saw those

bolts of bunched silk

gathered like 

christmas bows

in the fringes of your

untucked tshirt

 

these are for

your grandmother mimi

kiddo

 

later

when placed

in crystal

bowls of

tepid water

a sweet ginger

fragrance

would drift

from the

angel white

blossoms

 

the light and

refreshing scent

of fresh cut

flowers seemed to

make mimi's floral

window sheers

billow and dance

with glee every spring

 

walking through

the cemetery

tonight

I see you trying

to mask the

diamond tears

dripping down

your face

 

why are you

mulling over

all of these stories

of your former peers

that rest with

the dead

before you

 

how I followed

your steps with

my padded

toddler's feet

long ago

falling into

your arms

trying to

walk

papa

 

grasping to

take hold 

of the bright

prism beams

that always

surrounded

your proud

tall form

 

everyone

gathered

around you

to soak up

and enjoy your

bold energy source

 

where did the glow

of your northern star

go to grandpa

 

why did you

grow so wrinkled

and old overnight

 

was it all of the

lies you told

your wife

years ago

 

didn't you know

that resting your

golden crown of

curls on the pillow

of another man's

sacred treasure

would sow

pain for us all

papa 

 

who can measure

the degree of

such betrayal

 

you chose the

wife of your

brother

to lay under

grandfather

 

not even your

own mother

could forgive you

if she knew  

 

why does your chin

quiver so as

we stand here

 

are you afraid

you'll face them

all too soon

when you

die

 

 mimi

says

...your tomb

was lined with

velvet sheets

of doom

long ago

papa

 

the moment your

head touched

her pillow

she knew

 

don't you hear

the echoes of

of the wind

and rain

as we stand

by her grave

 

death's caressing

your tear-stained 

face papa

 

don't be afraid

for it's

mimi's gentle hand

 

mimi loves

you anyway 

just the way

you are today

papa

 

it's okay

to die

now

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

This is a special poem to me.

Reviews

[G. Anderson]

I could sense this pouring out of your soul like warm milk from a cauldron...

Such an amazing piece, every single emotion all wrapped into one page. Guilt, pain, disappointment, love, sentiment, reminiscence... This takes my breath away.

I could not find anything that needs improvement. The flow was steady, and I can tell you didn't hold back... the description and vivid elaboration on the feelings of your sacred heart- it shocks me.

I cannot pick a certain stanza to be my favorite, nor a certain section. This is just astronomical- the only poem on this site that I do believe is memorable.

Gage Anderson

[R E Tree]

Wow... it does sound like it was made especially for you. Such a long poem with short lines and short words. I think your poem is very imaginative especially when the first few stanzas. There are so many stanzas I keep losing count. The way you have wrote this poem is like as if you wanted to show the reader your childhood memories. The words you have used sound so true and draws teh reader in. The poem welcomes the reader into your past.

[Michael of Gilead]

A childs glimpse at their elders mortality and failings making them less iconic...powerful

[Pax Analog]

The poem rolls out like a film reel, highlighted by the gnarly facts of family life, and delivered w/your unassuming, unflinching honesty.

This honesty is particularly impressive walking right up to the end of days, either escorting the blood tie, or facing one's own mortality. Dealing w/the big D makes the rest pale by comparison and our stature increases for living lives worthy of the name instead of the proverbial "quiet desperation" ones fanned by the frickin' zombified media.

Good work, brave and true.

[Coyote Poetry]

A sad but a beautiful poem. In a long life. We will make many mistakes. Like the description of the father sin and mistakes. I wonder often what will happen to my soul? I like the story. I could see the child walking with the father. A very good ending to a outstanding poem. Forgiveness is hardest to receive from your self.
Coyote

[Chilson, Joshua]

Wow, this here is poetry. True poetry comes from the soul where we as poets have our strength, our voice, this here is emotion. I see why it's so special to you, this is very personal indeed, it's the type that makes you want to wrap your arms around that person letting them know all will be ok. Thank you for sharing this with me.