Gone
That dream,
like a small child
peeping round the corners of your mind,
while you stand in the shower
pondering mundane thoughts
of the day ahead.
You stop,
turn
and try to catch her,
it, the thought, the image.
And she just giggles and
keeps on running,
disappearing out of sight
down a long alleyway bathed in sunshine,
into the mist.
“Run run as fast as you can,
you can’t catch me!”,
she cries as she disappears.
And you know you can never,
not in this daytime world.
You can never
catch a dream.
Gone too.
Another dream now,
He’s gone,
and you stop,
turn
and try to catch him but
your desperate search takes you,
through the alleyways,
and darker places where
that heartfelt
bellyaching
sadness,
not girlish giggles,
leads you on.
Now you rely on misleading memories
which cannot be taken for granted, and
the ache of something missing,
Something real,
Something very tangible,
along with the knowledge that,
no matter how long you try,
no matter how far you search,
He will always be there….
Just beyond your grasp,
Just around that corner,
More than a hug and a cuddle away.
Just that little bit further,
just a little more,
and in your heart you know that he’s an entire lifetime further on.
I have always used poetry as a form of catharsis. Gone was a simple dream poem, Gone too written after the death of my son.