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i was there the day she died
the day she breathed her last
i prayed the Lord she'd suffer not
it's happening too fast

we both agreed no life support
so many years ago
how could i see this circumstance
or this scenario

we thought she had a fighting chance
if some support were used
it was that time i gave consent
i'm tired and confused

we prayed for a recovery
she'd wake up once again
i realized the hour came
this wasn't in God's plan

i pray for strength and guidance, Lord
i knew what need be done
her body must release the ghost
death's time at last had come

i chose the time we'd say farewell
a Sunday in July
i never thought i'd see this day
this day of last goodbyes

a chosen few stood by her bed
i held her hand in mine
i finger-combed my baby's hair
her time was growing nigh

the staff removed all life support
she now was on her own
the chaplain hummed Amazing Grace
My God don't drag this on

babe it's okay now to let go
i'll be alright my love
it's time for you to take His hand
and follow God above

her little body gave out soon
her shallow breaths were few
then quietly she left this world
to start her life anew

so now i am a broken man
there's naught that can fix me
for now there is a piece missing
she has my heart you see
 Oct 2018 SK O'Sullivan
Jay
oh, little ones
if I could build you a worthy city
to keep you safe and dreaming
I would crush the hope I had left
into a powder,
mix it
with all the things we grown couldn't be
and lay the slurry out to set,
harden it with sun and air
not hate
forming a foundation
where futures could be built
oh,
but my tools have no power
I dented them in fury and shorted them in tears
before they could be used to build  

oh, little ones
if ever I find safety in this homeless land
I'll wrap you in it
in a heartbeat
realizing you don't have the resources to help every worthy cause can be heartbreaking

6/19 update- It breaks my heart that this is still relevant
 Oct 2018 SK O'Sullivan
L B
October's--First Fire

The dark comes early now
...comes in on the wind
with defeated day

Old Jacket
goes out for an armful
the fire wood again
for firewood, firewood
the firewood again

This comfortable routine
like well-worn ***

Scraping ash into pan
Wetting and rubbing the window clean
Nesting the kindling
Setting the smaller
and the waiting logs
Striking a match
to the tinder
to tender the flame

Settling back
flushed
with the warmth of wine
purring cat on lap and
...the firewood...the firewood
the firewood again
Oh my.  Where was I going with this?
 Oct 2018 SK O'Sullivan
L B
When life has only twenty left
--maybe ten, of any good
with good behavior
The narrative gets thin and sketchy

Mind heads out--
to join the limping leftovers
to contemplate
the priceless wastes....
that stretch like endless sand
to salvage what it can
where I managed somehow to hide
something

“Like I ever asked for you?
Or for anything you had?
Like I ever needed you?”

So he showed up
late-in-life – and hungry
Shoved me through denial's door
Turned me out
from
his settled life
Barred the door
with distrust
--the size of tree trunks
once the drawbridge gets pulled up....
all the while-- crying,

“Love!”

“...You come only, when  
I... call for you!”

Seems some kid named David
got this treatment once
Were it not for his voice and lyre
--all that soothed the insane Saul

Same David, did wrong too
Spied her bathing
Privileged private lust

“Barricade the avenues' access!
“Keep to your own!
Show up when called for-- Minstrel Poet”

for an audience with your Noble Lord
In the land of Greeting and Misunderstanding
where one wrong word
gets girl turned out
like Small-talk—Not allowed!
For only when HE
Needs it

Make those emojis go away!
**** their happy, soothing nonsense!

--punishable by banishment
lose your job as Waiting Lady
banished from his guilty manor
for saying, "I think, maybe...."
From the court of royal heirs
gets tossed

“...To a pig stye—with ya!”

Where--
the ***** keeps singing anyway
It's only all, she does
with birds who dote on nearby trees
who note and pen a song to sunset
then fly away
to dot the blue of air

Make-do on scraps
Dress in dream's abandon
leftovers
learned from fire and pounding
in the forge of
Truth and Worth--

that's not the same
for everyone
Not a good poem.  Just a needed narrative.
Evening docks
like a desolate ship,
indigo and monolithic,

its umbral sails
swelling above
the distant hips of
a titanic continent.

Sleep tastes like a mossy anchor;
it lurches, shifts, and slips into gear—
the sound of stars grinding on stars.

I sail across an ocean of teeth.

I acquiesce. I drown

in the velvet
whirlpool of
your absence.
(after Edward Hopper’s Cape Cod Evening)

The light is everything;
it makes a godly sound

spilling through
the locust grove,

washing over
uncut grass,

negating
shadows,

baptizing husband
and wife in oblivion.

Melancholy blinks
like the black eye
of a whippoorwill.

Who catches the
notes of its song?

Only the dog.

Dusk, patient
as a chrysalis.

They can’t hear
the transmutation
yet, but they will.
Here's a link to the painting, in case you want to check it out: https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/cape-cod-evening/ewFLmeFJKhHIWg?hl=en
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