Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Muth Labben


Today is for counting my wasted yesterdays
Each one neatly lined up, row on dusty row

Every year the same...

Today is for remembering your unborn tomorrows
And the time I sit, because walking is too slow

There is no blame...

Today is for pretending to make sense of the past
From a life ended, with nothing to show

When I speak your name...

Today is for thinking that memories last
But all they do is fade, until they go...

Like every unfinished song to be sung...



About the death of a son.



Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

5 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Those were beautiful words Aggie... thank you.

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  2. This brought tears to my eyes and squeezed my heart. The loss of a child is a thorny pain that never leaves you. Beautifully written.

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  3. I can't imagine how this sort of pain would feel... but you did bring me in as close as I could get. This is a powerful and sad write.

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    Replies
    1. Jill,

      Thank you for letting yourself be drawn in. It's not a happy place to go, but at least you let yourself go there... and come back again.

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