Mourning loss is not much good nor wiping tears any gain
But it’s the best you can do sometimes
When the sand falls through the hourglass
as you try to make things last
The world sings you its song of lament.
And today you mourn not time nor space
But a soul you always believed would stay.
She was the wind, the sunshine and rain
The tempest tossed sea and the calm summer sky
But she got tired. She told me this:
even storms would have to pass someday.
She’d seen the best and worst of both worlds
And staying on would mean nothing anyway.
The mob had a way of snubbing out lit candles
And hers was the only one she’d known
when the rooms got smaller and the world, larger
Wars played out inside toy boxes
Flowers fell and paper boats drowned
Lyrics of poems drooped like autumn leaves, alone.
You! You saw the signs, the silence that grew between
Yet you waited and watched for her to come home.
Her blanket lay cold and the church bell tolled.
And still you never understood she was gone.
I’m sorry it falls on me to tell you
That she truly has left and you never knew
Don’t ask me where she is, I do not know
It is a pity that things had to end so.
There’s hills, forests, valleys and tunnels
The world is wide, the sea is deep
And finally, to roam she is free.
But maybe not quite, because she’s gone
No bird nor rain will fall for her
Memories will be wiped clean with time and water.
It’s no use,
Go scavenge the field of hopes and dreams
Battlefields of truth and honour
Seek her between the pages of books
That stay in her forgotten bookshelf
Call her to join in on the song
She used to sing all day
Look for her in the ink and graphite
Of pens and pencils she wielded in delight
Blow a horn from the rooftops of Venice
Tell her to come, see the world and its places
Ask her to blow all the dust away
From the Polaroid camera hiding in the trunk case
Place all the colour photographs in a line
And name each person, place, fragments of time.
Plead with her to remember all the stories
Etched in the camera rolls and inked papers.
And then she might appear, a ghost of her
Impassive. Unseeing. Like a machine.
Take her out for a rambling walk
Through woods and lovely lamplit streets
Hold her hand and don’t speak a word
As she looks up at the stars and smiles.
Then tell her to take it slow, to breathe
And like a floating lantern, to let go and fly.
Wave as she fades and return home
Have a cup of coffee and move on
But every now and then when the wind blows
Or when you hear an old song or when it snows
Think of her memory and wish her well
Try to remember and when you do, forget.