Keith D Trestrail | + Follow Poet |
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Rest In Peace

Listen to poem:

                       I
 Was a midwinter morn gravely led
    and parish leaves wet
                        underfoot we’d tread -
 to the sermon ‘neath the mount  
    and its dirges inside the gates of Eden.
 Where souls sing in a funeral choir
‘neath a gothic bell tower and spire 
                       II
 Beyond the spirit house altar light
    I heard a lone voice 
                        not of my own recite:
"The Lord is my shepherd…and I
    will dwell in the house of the Lord forever”.
 That cold ill wind and sea and sky
 would my own dark cast personify
                       III
 There I was stoic, numb and weak
    with no voice to sing 
                             or words to speak,
 and close as you were to touch
    I could not hold you or look upon your face.
 Unto mighty God in slow cavalcade
 silently for that day to end I prayed
                       IV
 The bells of Greyfriars in my head
    tolled for the haunting
                            souls of the dead!
 I loved you in this life and more
    if there is eternity I’ll love you there again.
 O’ what woe it is so young to die
 and have to say the long goodbye
                       V
 Forgive me my duty of care defiled
     and forgive the ways
                          of a miscreant child.
 If I had my time and yours again
     I’d adore you, mother, and be a better son.
 On your deathbed you spoke to me
 and still your words echo mournfully
                       VI
 Sorrowed is the deprivation of life,
    and grieved is a mother, 
                           daughter, and wife!
 In my own end rehearsal I ask
    what becomes the soul of redemption lost?
 And what reprove you leave behind -
 it is a meditation that fills my mind
                       VII
 O’ Death has pierced your defences,
    snuffed the flame 
                         and dulled my senses.
 So it is and so it must be so soon
    that we drink the bitter milk of mortality.
 Truly God saved you and your fears
 from this veil of sin and vale of tears
                       VIII
 Buried under is sealed bone and lock
    in the honeycomb hills
                                of Schnapper Rock.
 Below my own auguries of death
      lies a body of memory destined to live.
 Here I stand upon your tomb of clay
 but its flowers have long died away


             Written : July 1992

Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2022

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