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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Why couldn't I hold your hand? You ask Yourself in golden bowers of infinity - Was it because he felt too old to do it? It was too infantile an act to make? Questions! Always questions! It is the time. And I tear myself away from this I should not defile the memory Of the dead, or besmerch their truth - If truth had ever entered into it! Why could I not hold your hand And feel comfort in that simple act of parent, child, and holy ghost? I, of course, know the reasons why But it would take near seventy years To explain them all. Oh so many Causes for repulsion to have set in - Explanations that now are built On retrospective loss and guilt - I move my leg imperceptibly away From yours as we sit on that green sofa - A sofa so hard as to be a penance - But carry on sitting next to you Because I felt it was the right thing to do. And somewhere deep inside there still Existed the tiny vestiges of love Bruised beyond all expectations; Beyond the normality of just relations Between mother, son, and holy ghost. Don't worry yourself about it, Mother, Whilst you have rested in golden bowers I have taken the stone from my heart And with great deliberation rubbed The sharpness off the knife's edge Blunting it so that it can't draw Blood from either of us any more. Just reach across the great divide And seek out my hand. I promise It will allow itself to feel your touch - It will not withdraw and hide. Life is too short for that. I feel your arm reach over my shoulder And turn the page. © AllenA 2025>/em>
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