He's laying in bed, frozen in a space
and I know that he's fine, but he'll soon be gone -
Mummy said, that everything comes to an end,
suppose this is what she meant all along.
There's this smile on his face, reserved only for me
as I watch him butter some toast;
his tired graying eyes, seemed jovial still
as if my presence was a cure for disease;
just a little girl spending some last times,
with a man she felt she'd never seen.
There's that hoarseness when he talks
that echoes across the four walls
and I swear it's the entrails of fear.
As he carries me to the kitchen
to find me some grapes, he opens the fridge
and there piled on a plate -
shiny green emerald's, like elegant earls,
lined up in a row, like a regal salute.
Then you shrunk away, from other memories
as if existance past grapevines was to overly deep.
Just the words that hit me so hard in the face,
as Mum twelve years later would now relay;
"Your Grandad loved you, he even offered his eyes--
knowing that you couldn't see well, he thought,
that you could take his eyes before endless night."
and the memories are merciless, just a twitch of a tear,
comes streaming down eyes when the words ring in my ears.
Remember, recount - those words that he weeped -
before he took flight into an endless sleep.
Honorable mention
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
