For
some of us, our primary guardians
Simply
walked into their after-life;
Stolen,
when we were yet still young
Within
the tongues of summer's whispers,
And
thus we weep while memoirs sleep...
Tiny
yellow petals at the lily's hub
Seem
to nod perpetually to
The
imperial preference of the
Enigmatic
Summer Solstice;
And
grubs nestled deep within
The
smell of green grass
Pleasantly
bob to the trills of
This
mid-summer majesty.
Even
then, soot from old memories
Curls
in the warm, waning wind
Like
fallow limbs in a bonfire...
We
visit tombs and grave-sites,
Scatter
ashes left behind in marble urns;
But
never mind, what remains locked up
Can
still be re-imagined to those
Who
leap and laugh as they
Rush
into amber-colored sunlight.
Sleep,
not for long,
My
friend;
Bare
your soul to the
Quickening
pulse of the
Raging
river's rapid ear and
Confess
to those, that count,
The
finality of inevitability
And
your tender hesitance
In
finally letting go.
Poem written by L.P.-G.
June 2020
P.S. A belated Happy
Birthday to C.P. [June 18th]
