I have led himI have led him
when the day was at its blackest,
with clouds tight fisted, no sun to speak of,
and took him to the place, where the light went out,
holding him by his arm, all the way.
And sat with him.
Listened to voices, the shrill noise of a woman,
pressing his hand in assurance, a double knot
of our love, saying all there is to say
in the twilight, where moths
feed their hunger with darkness.
Our friends remember his years in the garden,
high up in the apple tree, clipping the branches
and singing at the top of his voice, Rigoletto,
with all the birds tuning in, the steal clippers
swinging, a conductor's baton .
Today he woke up in the place with no light,
asking if the magnolia blooms have opened
and spread their petals, as they fall,
curling white lids on the ground.
I tell him how spring has come
with snow showers,
how the world turned white,
how I would be his eyes .
I tell him before
he goes to sleep in his dark bed ,
in a room without light.
He wonders if I saw them,
dancing snow petals, catching the wind,
and I say they melted on my eyes.
Poetry by Scharlie Meeuws
Read 542 times
Written on 2008-04-18 at 23:39
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