.

.

Our anniversary approaches

Yet only I remember

For you are dead

Time is nothing to you now

Alone in that deep grave

It black granite headstone

A vast mountain in my adolescent mind

Windswept, bleak in that winter of my life

A desolate peak I have yet to conquer

But which, I have carried alone for many years

On shoulders you thought too weak

Which borne your death

And did not buckle

Under the weight of you loss

The magnitude of my own guilt

The oppression of loud accusing voices

Verbal glaciers of naive insinuation

Hurled like frozen rocks

Upon my fractious soul

I who was sixteen

Took the beating

I Journeyed

Into darkness

Solitude

To the edge

Beyond words

Beneath touch

I lay within a living grave

Cut by your death

Dad

You should know Dad

Time has been good to me

Time which you forsake

For cheap cigarettes and cold beer

Has taught me that I was not to blame

That you were not a good Dad

That your heart was attacked

By both your body and your soul

That neither wanted to live

Beyond your misconceptions

Your lack of vision

Your weakness to be bold

And live

Denying my needs

My yearnings

For love

To be wanted

To be a son

To have a Dad

A friend

As our anniversary nears

For the thirty-third time

These thoughts travel on the dark waters of my mind

The moon of you shines more brightly now

Illuminating shadows fresh from the grave

Drawing deep waves of turbulent emotions deep into the night

Then down upon the rock my own secluded island

Which I broke from the mountain of you

With great inner strength

It is not with sadness or with guilt

That I mark your passing this year

It is with simple cold realisation

Our anniversary is about two broken men

A failed relationship

Lost possibilities

Unrealised love

That will once again slip by in the night

Fading quickly upon seas of morning tide

Returning all doudt to the darkness of the grave

Until next years.

5th June

.

.

Comments
  1. Lee says:

    Heartbreaking . . . powerful . . . .

    A difficult verse to write, I’m sure, but you did a beautiful job with it.

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