tyme's remaining foes

my karma is a thistle rooted deep with a pretty poison
when it rains it pours
and then silence rounds the corners
to beat blues a Hyacinth
spilling gesture to deed
bent by storm

I remember walking
down cinder strewn
rail road chewing a stem
examining a solitude
life

the light this morning is plum
every leaf is broad
thick with dew
or frost
a morning reserved for moutains
where steep homes rock in the wind

my uncle was killed on these tracks
when he was sixteen years
by the train
I am eleven years
and I don’t realize that…
but I think about it now

has he been my guardian?

I know that his name was Ludwick
and we would have been friends
someone for when I’m alone
and I miss someone to talk to
and there is no one to be angry with me
I can ask… am I okay

I miss knowing that I am loved
like the way they say is from
the eyes of God
most days I know it doesn’t matter
but some times I notice
that irreplaceable glare

I am sorry for all I may have did
and I love you even if you can not
see that; I wish somehow to tell you
that which escapes the crevasse you think
I dropped you in
this part of me was broken
before I knew
and you are tired of hearing that, I know
but wait … let the morning be silent
and let the shade resolve a protected lot
waving mercy to just a soul that begs
to not suffer damnation or a face that
has not laughed from cheek to cheek

the gypsy whistles some Irish ballad
of tyme’s remaining foes
and gold coins in ocean’s belly
tears track the trail of retreat
there is reason to believe that
courage gains manifest, a touch
for divinity
gravity waits the leap but faith defies it
to reach soft hands

I hope that later
I will be better
someone who reaches expectations
and potential
something
tangible
for you
and I will no longer be terrified
of failing

courage
courage
courage

stand up again friend
stand up again

we’ll go together







May 19, 2007
© 2007 woundedlordliterature

ШАМРО

Ludwick - may 16. 1934 - 1950
Herrick Center, PA