Paul, Past Tense
The walls of the room are almost see-through,
The window curtains aglow filter the sun full in view.
The valley below, though hazed, becomes crystal clear,
And as I lie agazed, something seems the matter here.
The Rose and Honeysuckle that climb the bower wall
That with the sun herald the morn, and would enthrall
The high shrill of Herring Gulls or bustling of the pier
Neither today seek assail or soothe nostril, nor ear
Something's the matter, for though I would rise
I lay yet still. Tears well in my trembling eyes.
Some small thing she said, rings whispering in my head,
“Everything dies”, she said. Dear God, Am I Dead?
Now, the sounds of the willow's rustling moan
Now the brook beyond babbling, the thicket's groan.
Now, the shrouded shadow that standeth,
Nigh the foot of my bed,
With a cowled nod creaks, “Yay, thou art dead.”
And on the sudden he takes my right hand,
And on the sudden I rise and stand.
Sheila and others are gathering downstairs,
I hear them discussing our life affairs.
The stairwell cradles the sun, and gentle ray
About the banister dust motes drift and play.
The tinted cream color walls hinted at Faverolle eggs
I noted shadowed silhouettes had replaced our legs
We flowed down together the silent stair,
Recalling the tattle-telling creak they bare.
Our foot falls were light as we floated on air,
All this quickly becomes too much to bear.
I shrink in tears walking behind family and friends,
A golden harmony of sorrow and of formal pretence.
As they navigate my death and all that it portends,
And center, Sheila and the air of elegance she lends.
The Garrets, Lynn and Mitchell, Cooper, and his wife
Friends I rarely see all together, celebrating my life
And what a life I've led sat beside that splendorous queen
Two princely heirs, she bore her king
And shone glory where ruin would have been
She was the reason for my steady foot and hand
That walked sure through a fraught perilous land
That visage they say steps behind every great man
That purity flourished in love's purpose and plan
Love is less the outward show of how much we care
It's the standing together, crying together and being there
For it is too much to face life all on our own
Yet love finds us, if we but make ourselves known
And I the withered king lifeless upon his throne, so overthrown
By the relentless march of years
Sees his queen's even hands and silver tears
His heart he gifts her full of the cherrish'd love he's grown
From the gleaming field: the better life he's known
I must away, hearing the angel's trumpets blown
The shrouded shadow shows me a bridge between worlds,
The world of life and now of an afterlife unfurls
The river between that remaineth unseen,
That for a moment, it's rippling and bickering, I glean.
I turn, and Sheila seems to look toward me,
A smile that even in this grim hour pales beauty.
Her smile becomes sadness as if she can see me leaving,
I am all of tears and wailing for her pain and grieving.
The shadow conducts me to carry on
To straighten my gait and carry a song
If even a lie, so be it, to make her strong
I smile to assure both heart and eye,
Our love carries on
For such cannot die
She smiles back to my glad surprise,
Those gathered ‘round her look toward my space.
And mimic her sentiment with mournful grace.
Though I bid farewell, but who might tell
If I may pray, visit, ere the next mid tolling bell.
The shroud shruggeth, “Thou hath died well.”
The sun and now the moon divide the day,
I fear I am well and withal on my way.
As at great height and speed
We breach the white hanging cloud,
To spy lake and reed,
Mead and ambling crowd.
I set foot midst the soft blowing grass,
The shroud has departed, delivering me at last.
And straight away, I hear a voice nearing call,
An old friend from peerless yesteryears,
Is that you, Paul?!
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