Unquiet Desperation
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Author Topic: Another Nom-de-plume  (Read 1116 times)
Pater
Galileo Galilei
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Pressed wrong button in p'port photo booth...


« on: January 22, 2013, 03:47:47 PM »

Children, as we were,
often walked along the river shore;
Summer hols, bird calls,
ducks 'n' drakes,
testing swear words out.
That kind of thing.
A private starting point
for who we would be,
back then what did we really know?

Where do we go
when the slow light goes dim.
Where do we go
when the cold night folds in.
When do we know anything.

Susan was one of us,
I liked to make her blush
when all our teenage thoughts
demand we deal with how we feel.
She didn't mind, blossomed anyway.

But the illness came,
it's odd how things can change.
Like the seasons do, yet
not to order, like a grey day
and that coolness out of place,
warm breezes elsewhere.
It is the shadow still to form
fully in someone's eyes;
you see it though they are the same,
as ever they were.
They are unaware.

Where do we go
when the slow light goes dim.
Where do we go
when the cold night folds in.
When do we know anything.

Susan talked a lot,
forgiven for this way;
rum things she'd gathered
in her short life.
Was it the patience
of us all, or her smile?
No-one really knows now,
or would venture to say.

We heard she'd walked alone
along the river shore one day,
something she'd last done
as a child.
Was it the latent comfort
that held her mind?
No-one really knows now,
but then she didn't say.

Susan often joked
of living for today,
plumping for last chances,
not styles.
Was it the latent in us all,
she could find?
No-one really knows now,
but then she went away.

Where do we go
when the slow light goes dim.
Where do we go
when the cold night folds in.
When do we know anything.

On a winter's day
the twilight carried her song,
delivered it to the grave.
Something she had known
for a while.
From that day she walked
along the riverside.
We all miss her even now,
more than ever we could say.

Sometimes anythings
mean everything.

by Pater
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