Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Our Father...




Three carnations land softly,

perfectly, into folded hands

praying, offering absolution for a soul

gone wrong, remorse with epiphanies

and forgiveness, anxious to mend

and correct the error of his ways...

the eleventh hour hastening

skeletal limbs into the inevitable fate

of closure for all things

past and present, leaving a future

full of doubt and confusion

eight-fold, and painful

to sort the meaning of why

and how an atrocity, such as it was,

could have been disregarded

by all until the last unfortunate moment

of life, forever silencing words

that were yet to come

and the peace, and the happiness

we all longed to finally own.  

2 comments:

Ian said...

Very moving. I think it is only beginning to sum up a very complicated life in a search for answers, answers that will be discovered through more writing.

Stevie said...

Life is what makes a writer write. I have had the honour of experiencing plenty of it. Thank you so much for your comment Ian!