Buried a good friend yesterday.
A nice spot; high on the hill
With a view to the Trysil mountain.
His son, my best friend, as collected
As ever, watched the casket lowered into
Homeground, to merge
Over time into the matter of his
Ancestors and fallen friends.
Before the fog cleared and the
Mourners parted, we laughed again.
The way he would have wanted
Us to.
After the four hour drive to my woman's
Appartment, I was met with red wine
And a hug.
The flames from her fireplace dancing
On the leaves -yellow with autumn-
Of a tree nearby.
She sat in a t-shirt uncold, and as my
Shoulders finally lowered, I shivered.
Wrapping me in two fur blankets
And topping my glass off, she changed
The music from metal to Enya; louder
Than considerate to the neighbours,
But who cares? It had been one hell
Of a day, and I'd spent myself
Again.
Spent myself on sympathy and sorrow,
And had nothing left. Nothing
But her,
And a part of me cried like an old man
Who hadn't been able to ever
Before.
I was dead ready for her bed, but
Something... something warm, real, and
Very, very important
Kept my eyes open. How any sensation
In a human soul can blend with such
As comfort, and form contentment.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
Buried a good friend yesterday.
A nice spot; high on the hill
With a view to the Trysil mountain.
His son, my best friend, as collected
As ever, watched the casket lowered into
Homeground, to merge
Over time into the matter of his
Ancestors and fallen friends.
Before the fog cleared and the
Mourners parted, we laughed again.
The way he would have wanted
Us to.
After the four hour drive to my woman's
Appartment, I was met with red wine
And a hug.
The flames from her fireplace dancing
On the leaves -yellow with autumn-
Of a tree nearby.
She sat in a t-shirt uncold, and as my
Shoulders finally lowered, I shivered.
Wrapping me in two fur blankets
And topping my glass off, she changed
The music from metal to Enya; louder
Than considerate to the neighbours,
But who cares? It had been one hell
Of a day, and I'd spent myself
Again.
Spent myself on sympathy and sorrow,
And had nothing left. Nothing
But her,
And a part of me cried like an old man
Who hadn't been able to ever
Before.
I was dead ready for her bed, but
Something... something warm, real, and
Very, very important
Kept my eyes open. How any sensation
In a human soul can blend with such
As comfort, and form contentment.
