Come to Me

August 23, 2013

I close my eyes a thousand times a day,
Because in the dark, I always see your face.
You get me through all my darkest hours,
In the dead dry desert, you’re a bed of flowers</p?

So come to me,
When I’m asleep;
Live in my dreams,
And never leave.

’cause it’s your memory that keeps me going;
Though you’re gone, I feel your presence growing.
I never thought that I could live without you
But if I close my eyes, it’s like I don’t really have to

In a crowded room, I can feel alone—
You always knew when to take me home—
But if I turn off the lights, I can feel you near,
And when I go to sleep, well you’re still here.

So come to me,
When I’m asleep;
Live in my dreams,
And never leave.

When I’m asleep, come back to me.

Advertisements

New Soul

March 2, 2013

In the half-light born,
a brand new soul
to a dying world.
Shadows over soft blue eyes,
looking to a future
no one chose.
Once,
such events were celebrated:
a fresh-lit flame,
a beacon of love,
a bundle of joy.
But this is a changed world.
One in which new parents
feel only apologetic–
where birth is mourned,
and death yearned for.

xi. Counting Novembers

January 14, 2011

A mother remembers,
She’ll never forget,
Counting Novembers,
And candles not lit.

Drowned in dismay,
The time idles past,
Here comes a third birthday,
As sad as the last.

No cards on the fireplace,
The calendar bare,
No children play chase;
There’s no party here.

Counting Novembers,
And bearing the sorrow,
No cheerful new members,
No need for tomorrow.

The dining room table,
A seat always spare,
Dad never able,
To lay breakfast there.

The bed he won’t sleep in,
A room never dusted,
The hate they can’t keep in,
At a God no more trusted.

No chance to move on,
No dousing the embers,
No mercy at hand from,
Counting Novembers.

 

 

Inspired by the following quote:

“My baby would have been three now. Each year, we remember the time in our own way. We talk about the birthday in November that will never be written in the calendar. It feels like there will always be an empty space at our table, a bedroom that was never slept in . . . I’m not sure I’ll ever stop counting Novembers . . .” ~
 A mum