Echoes in ash
Sit here silent as masks
Staring right back
Through my hyperbole past
The fire, did warm me
The whiskey, did sew me
Thread, falls from my collapse
As whispers of mourning
Portraits of you, next
What you've become
One's strokes, so vivid
The other, rotund
Ashes to echos
I wonder if he knows
What, all,
He left behind
A fog of limbs
Eyes in mist
Is there,
After, life
Rocks; crack, stumble
In glass: of tumble
As red leather,
Made company
Ashes, the echoes
Of what was
Once, but
No more
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 7:20 PM UTC
Echoes in ash
Sit here silent as masks
Staring right back
Through my hyperbole past
The fire, did warm me
The whiskey, did sew me
Thread, falls from my collapse
As whispers of mourning
Portraits of you, next
What you've become
One's strokes, so vivid
The other, rotund
Ashes to echos
I wonder if he knows
What, all,
He left behind
A fog of limbs
Eyes in mist
Is there,
After, life
Rocks; crack, stumble
In glass: of tumble
As red leather,
Made company
Ashes, the echoes
Of what was
Once, but
No more
For Nanu.
My grandfather was cremated last year. I imagine myself in the one red leather chair I always saw him seated in, reflecting on him now, up there, on the mantle.
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