Life is stacking boxes,
Keeping your head on straight, Soldier -
Top of your shoulders.
Whatever Perfection is
the Average will do just great
When finally you get to that place...
The Long Haul is over.

Looking back and seeing the climb,
All the people and faces
Are just Time exposures - That's okay, Soldier.
And it's okay now, to bask in the applause,
Take the bows and be center-stage,
Dare the spotlight, stop turning the pages...
The Long Haul is over.

There are always moments
When a joke is Not the answer,
But we choose it anyway
For the craic and for the banter.
Put that change in your pocket now, Soldier
Leave the Bar and walk quietly away...
The Long Haul is over.

A pint of Guinness for a Tune,
A Poem, or a Story for the ever after?
This Life is never a journey,
This Death is not a closure, but
There are only so many hours in a day, so
No, no more stacking boxes today, Soldier...
The Long Haul is over.

Breathing cold vibrancy,
the earth and sun remind us
that whatever prattles on the surface
will be layered over,
fossilised,
and judged as advances
or fat, white dead ends
by the clever folk ahead

A home of fallen dreams
and wishes made upon dead stars
of feathers and fungal dreams
brushing gently your tendril wings
rearranging your wisps of hair
like ghostly fingers
in thin air

I remember so many warm moments
Like chatting over coffee in the rain
Under an umbrella on the boulevard
It hurts to know we won’t do that again.
We will never again go to a buffet
And eat all the expensive stuff up,
Avoiding bread and pasta as filling
And then sit and drink cocoa by the cup.

I remember when we walked together
Along the shore, a perfect place to be,
The two of us sharing old-time stories
Of what had happened to you and to me.
We caught each other up on the news
Of things that each did not yet know.
Not just the tales of disgust or glory
From the old days so very long ago.

I remember how easily you laughed
At the jokes I had saved up to tell.
The sound was always a happy one
With the undertone of a tinkling bell.
And when I made up stories about
People that walked down the street
You always lightly poked my shoulder;
Chided me that I needed to be sweet.

I remember that it was good to be there,
Seeing your warm smile that truly glowed.
I remember people looking at us, grinning
At two people, happy beside the busy road.
It was that kind of scene for us, it’s true.
Two people sharing cappuccinos that day;
A memory that still resides within me.
A gift you left me before you passed away.