I don a dark cloak most days
its been this way
ever since I can remember
and like a vampire
without a reflection
I have no shadow in light.
the brighter the day
the darker the black
cloak upon my back
clawing,
clinging so tight,
won't let go
morning noon and night
I don my dark cloak
ashamedly
but will not fight it
I have grown accustomed to
the weight
your father was different,
stronger, less susceptible to
the donning of dark cloaks,
I never met a more noble man
he fought his fight
without complaint
and in the end
I hope to think he
left this world
in peace
*we stood quietly
at the head of the bed and
you stroked his hair,
we knew the time was close,
I leaned down and whispered
“I promise to take care of her”
and immediately knew
it was the right thing to say.
A small tear appeared
at the corner of his eye,
he smiled his slow half smile
and we said goodbye.*
*later that night
your mother phoned
to tell us he was gone*
it seems we spend our days
in search of light,
trying to get to where
the heart might rest,
that illusive,
proverbial,
brightly lit
end of the tunnel
where for some
its pretty complicated,
a generation of
the guilty and the shamed
stuck between desire and fear
where the brighter the light
the heavier the load
for we who have no shadow in light
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
I don a dark cloak most days
its been this way
ever since I can remember
and like a vampire
without a reflection
I have no shadow in light.
the brighter the day
the darker the black
cloak upon my back
clawing,
clinging so tight,
won't let go
morning noon and night
I don my dark cloak
ashamedly
but will not fight it
I have grown accustomed to
the weight
your father was different,
stronger, less susceptible to
the donning of dark cloaks,
I never met a more noble man
he fought his fight
without complaint
and in the end
I hope to think he
left this world
in peace
*we stood quietly
at the head of the bed and
you stroked his hair,
we knew the time was close,
I leaned down and whispered
“I promise to take care of her”
and immediately knew
it was the right thing to say.
A small tear appeared
at the corner of his eye,
he smiled his slow half smile
and we said goodbye.*
*later that night
your mother phoned
to tell us he was gone*
it seems we spend our days
in search of light,
trying to get to where
the heart might rest,
that illusive,
proverbial,
brightly lit
end of the tunnel
where for some
its pretty complicated,
a generation of
the guilty and the shamed
stuck between desire and fear
where the brighter the light
the heavier the load
for we who have no shadow in light
Special thanks to Sally A. Bayan for encouraging the initial topic of this poem, the analysis of the cloaks we wear.
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