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Poem
My childhood started to end when it’s power began to show.
With a trash bag and shovel, into the forest we go.
My first, father buried under a tree.
Watching and realizing, one day it will be me.
Every dog since then, holding them as others push plungers,
So that my best friends, wouldn’t have to die alone with strangers.

At twenty, in a parlor, lays a friend’s five year old brother,
Seeing God in the eyes of that child’s mother.
I can still see her standing beside his little coffin.
Now with kids of my own, I think of her often.
Understanding faith and how it will get you thru,
And respecting other’s choices on just what is true.

The family’s new patriarchs and matriarchs have buried the old.
After two generations, memories start to grow cold.
As my shadow grips me tighter with pain and in mirror.
With every day’s night, in my bed, it snuggles nearer.

On the units of my profession, souls lay in procession.
Crossing many shadows in a day with acts of compassion.
Peace at the hour of sleep with Ambien,
Theirs to keep until waking up to the truth again.
Wiping the tears that run down their face,
When words can’t give what is in an embrace.

Timed by the critical numbers in lab values,
Giving the Artisan no rest from monuments and statues.
Morphine when breathing becomes a battle,
As their disappearing shadow becomes a rattle.
Soon their eyes are frozen in a blank stare.
Auscultating a heartbeat that is no longer there.

Masters give illusions of sleep in a viewing.
In mediums and dreams they are still living.
Headlights of touched souls, in parades of cars,
Belies among Sartre’s roles, the only one that is truly ours?


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Contest: Any Sad Poem
Finalized: 11.03.15
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed: 2nd
Poem Written: 12.10.14
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