Today was a day of music and contemplation
walking away with a faraway destination.
try to forget and yet still remember,
from early April to late September.
Days get longer and much more fragile
the old body gets less and less mobile.
For once days are duly recorded
even though the finality is so sordid.
Recollections are hard to hold,
memories are there but, all so old.
When was my last warm summer night,
is there another one within my blurred sight?
Every hair is turning gray in every mirror
I wonder is the cold ground getting nearer?
I hear voices calling me late at night
caught up in white noise that isn't quite right.
Dreams aren't long enough to really haunt
but there seems time to painfully flaunt.
"Say goodnight Gracie" is what he said
then all the radios finally went dead.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
Today was a day of music and contemplation
walking away with a faraway destination.
try to forget and yet still remember,
from early April to late September.
Days get longer and much more fragile
the old body gets less and less mobile.
For once days are duly recorded
even though the finality is so sordid.
Recollections are hard to hold,
memories are there but, all so old.
When was my last warm summer night,
is there another one within my blurred sight?
Every hair is turning gray in every mirror
I wonder is the cold ground getting nearer?
I hear voices calling me late at night
caught up in white noise that isn't quite right.
Dreams aren't long enough to really haunt
but there seems time to painfully flaunt.
"Say goodnight Gracie" is what he said
then all the radios finally went dead.
Copyright WHC 3/2014
Request permission to use this poem