Some trains won’t return to station
Yet as I travel long I see
Limbs tossed aside.
The thin arms that carried me thus far
Cast into the ditch
Now flaunt no leverage
Only strength,
Now travelling at great length
Finding enough pieces for a creature.
Pieced together makes a person
That I sit with at fireside,
Telling stories until stars illuminate
More than last remaining embers.
Telling me my own tales
That are strangely familiar
Yet gone unthought of for years.
Young enough to think
The weather man made decisions
Rather than predictions,
A man behind a desk with buttons
Overwhelmed by choice
And always choosing to be unkind,
Rather than a simple man
Trying his best to convey bad news.
Old enough to know that
Black is the colour for mourning
Because it attracts the most heat
Those grieving hearts need
As much as they can get,
Almost like an embrace.
Watching moving pictures with the neighbour
Father implores me to send him home,
Takes me to the driveway where
Man’s best friend is wrapped
In a yellow wool blanket.
People came to help
Digging a hole next to the tree
That reached halfway to heaven.
Now his bones are turned to soil
That roots wriggle against
To further their kingdom
Spreading fingers spreading shadows
On a boy fallen fully awake and weeping.
He’d been companion
He’d been protector
He’d played catcher and outfielder,
But most of all
He’d played my friend.
– Vagabond Prophet
Thanks @josy57 for prompting @mildreflections and I with “dismembering a memory”. A great prompt, hope I did a halfway decent job with it.
Vagabond Prophet 