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Joseph Sinclair Oct 2017
Along the Isis; down the Cam,
the brightest minds have not displayed
solutions that are worth a tinker’s ****
deserving of an accolade.  

How like the fates to cruelly take
the nectar of the sweetest flower;
to steal its fragrance and thereby to make
a nonsense of her latest hour.

The footpaths that she bravely trod
reflect the beauty of her life.
The countryside alas now sadly flawed,
by memories now sadly rife.

Late misted fields now sunset flushed
beneath the spread of every tree;
the golden corn now waiting to be crushed
from Shillingford to Maddingley.
Joseph Sinclair Sep 2017
The scriptures tell us that
to everything there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die.

Forgive me then if I suggest
that this was not the time
for Emily.
It bears no sense or reason.
It was a fearful crime.

She was one of the blessèd ones
who offer so much sustenance to others
that they have little left over
for themselves.

It is not always a blessing
to survive.
Sometimes it is anguish
to be alive.

Now she has gone and we remain
to face a lifetime of pain.
But we should also strive
to keep alive the joyous memories
of all that she has brought into our lives.

Hers was a bright
unquenchable spirit.
The heartbreak of her vanished hair
produced a request for hats
that would enhance
and not detract.
Thus did she turn negatives
into positives.

The intensity of her smile
was such as to dispel
that monstrous regiment
of doubts and fears
that assailed us.
Thus did she bring us comfort.
Thus did she turn winter
into summer.

She always bore her sufferings
with fortitude beyond credence
and always thought of others
before herself.

Music was such a large part of her life,
for her the bells were always ringing.
She would be saddened beyond measure
if she believed our grief
prevented us from singing.

For life goes on
and we move on
and she would be the first to say
"It is right to grieve
it is right to display sadness,
it is right to shed tears
so long as you continue to believe
that I will sing with you through the years."

Her song may now be heard
in the notes of every twittering bird.
Her smile will be seen
in every flaming sunset,
in every shimmering rainbow;
in the beauty of nature
as profound
as once she loved.

Her joy will continue to be felt
in the waves that crash
upon the shore,
the wind upon our skin,
the blades of grass
beneath our feet,
where once she walked.

In the fleeting clouds
of blissful skies,
the woods and trees
that mark the hallowed ground
that once she trod.

But most of all
in the sound of every twittering bird,
her song will continue to be heard.
Joseph Sinclair Sep 2017
As I wander through my life,
the distortions of my existence
provide an illusion
to warp my perspective
Joseph Sinclair Sep 2017
She always bore her sufferings
with fortitude beyond credence
and always thought of others
before herself.

Music was such a large part of her life,
for her the bells were always ringing.
She would be saddened beyond measure
if she believed our grief
prevented us from singing.

For life goes on
and we move on
and she would be the first to say
"It is right to grieve
it is right to display sadness,
it is right to shed tears
so long as you continue to believe
that I will sing with you through the years."
Joseph Sinclair Sep 2017
The suddenness of her departure
came as a vast shock.
She had clung to life as tenaciously
as a limpet to a rock.
But her acceptance of her final breath
as though she had been blessed
with relief long sought from suffering and pain
took her to a deserved and peaceful rest.
For those of you who have seen my postings about the health problems of my beloved young daughter Emily, it is my sad duty to inform you that she passed away on September 5, when hospital staff and family agreed to reduce sedation and withdraw life support.  RIP beloved daughter.
Joseph Sinclair Aug 2017
We believe that by identifying symptoms
we will succeed in curing cause.
But the name is as little the origin
as the menu is the meal.
We need to seek the source,
the mainspring of our malady.

A cure may be
as elusive as the alchemist’s gold,
or the scientist’s discovery
of a perpetual motion machine.

But
to **** the ****
we must locate the root.
Joseph Sinclair Aug 2017
I have now ended
the final years
of my
second adolescence.

I have attained
a plateau
of calm
and peace.

But adulthood is so boring
and childhood so demeaning.
I’m looking forward to
my third adolescence
when I can once again discard
the inner childhood self,
and yet reject
all adulthood’s
responsibilities.
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