The fading light made no sound as it
sunk into the dark, blue-grey ocean of sky,
there was no song to accompany the
descent of night or the flight of his great soul;
the silence sat there, alone, but for the
long love that stretched between them.
The clatter of hammer and saw
The trickle of tears and sadness
The ripple of laughter and chatter
And the coffin for his departure
Is built in the workshop of love.
In the silhouette doorway of
the dawn unfolding, two hearts
are seen side by side, beating one
for the other, held firmly together
by the iron nails of love.
This is life that cocooned our own,
that wrapped us from the
the weary toil of broken fields and
gave us dreams as big as the moon
and believed above all else
that day would surely follow night.
He lets the taste of tough tears
slide down his cheeks in the
light of the warm sun, and the
silver lines that etched his face
in sorrow, are wiped away.
She sweeps up the broken glass
of those turbulent times and in
the sweet breeze drifting across
her bold and courageous heart,
she hangs the sadness out to dry
As big as the full moon
on a cloudless night in autumn,
his heart cast long shadows
across the floor of his empty room
and the cold light carried the sad echo
of the moreporks call.
I left him there,
no longer able to carry
those glorious days
of sweat and toil,
where the laughter
of our bones
echoed over fields
and high-country hills
where we reigned
as small gods.
My old friend is cold
in his bed in the home;
we lay an extra blanket
about his shoulders and
watch as he drifts back
into the warm place
of waiting slumber,
a small smile turning up
the corner of his mouth.
The fading light makes no sound
as it sinks into the dark, blue-grey
ocean of sky. There is no song to
accompany the descent of night;
the silence leaves us alone.