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evanesce
( for Mom )
I’ll treasure dear while growing old
I clasped your hand til it waxed cold
a warm so gifted - touch and breath
thus torn from me by time and death
no quarter mine should find that gone
I grasped quite desp’rate, holding on
what sweet, the reaper robbed me of
your glow of closeness, coursings, love
but while your heat slow-slipped away
I cursed your lord should find you stay
for what good, gods or peace or calm
when gone, the warmth your tiny palm?
oh Mom, your death is owed such costs
they’ve found me broken, bleak and lost
l’m scared what left as you ebbed cold
were precious things that kept me whole
now I’ll not find, through gain or cause
those dear things made me who I was
that my heart’s doomed, whate’er I do
too much of mine left then … with you
dear heav’n, please tell me that’s … not …
true.
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
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