Scattered
Air silt memories
Gathered on soil
Dirty heaps of fear and smiles,
Rages and heartache.
Burned to nothing, turned to nothing.
Save this;
This is mine-
Cupped hands
Hold you near me.
This bit of flesh dust that is
So much more, and so much less,
Father.
Embraced with weary hands.
Dirt smudged, teary eyes.
His flesh stained mine.
I looked down through dust,
Through hands,
Through memory,
Through years.
A balmy night, gathered 'round
Sparks and blazing.
Wood smoke clothing,
Face burning,
Eyes stinging.
A fire more for wonder,
Than for warmth.
I always loved fire.
But fire never lasts,
It burns and consumes,
Till it devours itself.
Utterly like and unlike
The great worm of time.
Is eternal destruction the
Same as infinity?
"Dreaming is the same as dwelling.
The past is no more real than the future."
His memory voice condemning.
How can I not look back?
Memory is all that keeps
Him real, here with me.
Makes this dust so much more
Than filth, so much more
Than a stain that the earth
Can' t see, can't feel.
This is mine, much more than his.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
