Note to the Father: 1

They brew as I sleep,
hovering over green fields
over the shoots encouraged to emerge
by the autumn sunshine and light rain.

They simmer as I wake,
slowly settling like morning’s frost,
the cold sealing the rooms I keep hidden,
curtains over windows to keep the winter lights –
dim though they are – out.

Like forgotten streets these houses rest.
Squatting within, the things I ought clean
words and actions I ought glean;
foundations of life – the great city – ignored.

(Fear sits on his throne, darkness at his right hand.
Tears are what these bones – unrotting – demand.
“is it really finished”, I may not stand!
These palms weighed down wont lift,
and it’s getting harder and harder for this mind,
this soul, this strength, this man…
to Love)

© Denis Adide 2013

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