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these are old bones, bones of the dead, bones that don't belong inside a body bones that decay, abandoned first aid, and forgotten calcium supplements Baba, in life you took my soul, I thought, so I held my heart away from your hands Baba, I have no use left for it now, bury it deep under great piles of dead land I've been told by the birds that you're not in the sky but in fact, just beyond my eye's reach I've been told by the cemetery stones and old trees that the earth houses empty bodies Some days I think you are trapped in the clouds, but they pass to reveal mirthless blue Some days I think you'll walk right through the door, but the foyer is clean of your marrow Baba, these bones have aged too soon, with unlived years I dreamt to share with you Good years, after the last of the wars, in which love surely wins, triumphant over all Years of peace, filled with the light of the sun I witnessed warming you in your grave That sun, over sands of sandspit beach, painting us momentarily gold in the cold of December 4 months, and these bones creak along to your song, it goes: I miss you, I love you, come home
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Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 7:39 PM UTC
On the subject of grief
these are old bones, bones of the dead, bones that don't belong inside a body bones that decay, abandoned first aid, and forgotten calcium supplements Baba, in life you took my soul, I thought, so I held my heart away from your hands Baba, I have no use left for it now, bury it deep under great piles of dead land I've been told by the birds that you're not in the sky but in fact, just beyond my eye's reach I've been told by the cemetery stones and old trees that the earth houses empty bodies Some days I think you are trapped in the clouds, but they pass to reveal mirthless blue Some days I think you'll walk right through the door, but the foyer is clean of your marrow Baba, these bones have aged too soon, with unlived years I dreamt to share with you Good years, after the last of the wars, in which love surely wins, triumphant over all Years of peace, filled with the light of the sun I witnessed warming you in your grave That sun, over sands of sandspit beach, painting us momentarily gold in the cold of December 4 months, and these bones creak along to your song, it goes: I miss you, I love you, come home
I miss you, I love you, come home Baba, <\3 24.04.64 - 13.03.23
Poetria_
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Poetria_
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Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 7:39 PM UTC
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