I see him through the sharp blades
The green of the grass succumbs to his shade
Shimmering in the rain he’s dancing for His Day
Whispering silent prayers, asking Mother to marry his heartache with gain.
I rest upon an oak tree, not far from where he stands
And watch his movements
Face down, head in his hands.
The breeze holds him up
And whilst he stands, he introduces his silent cry
To a future plan.
A plan now gone awry.
A force of nature falling to his knees
Fist clenched, resisting, compelling to his suffering.
He looks for answers in places
Where questions are not welcome.
Busying himself with pursuing what’s already been taken
All that he knew, everything that was his.
He’s giving up hope, losing his patience
He looks up at the sun and he’s jealous
It can disappear into The Darkness.
His blood is boiling, eyes lose It’s Shine
You won’t leave his mind.
He paints you with rough strokes
Angry that you’ve left him alone.
Paints you with colours you’ve never heard before.
Scratches your cheekbones into a piece of wood.
He relieves his final image of you
Pale skin, brown eyes, curls in your hair looks like a soft tide
You were wearing a blue and white gown you learnt to despise.
You were clutching on to the necklace he bought you,
On the 2nd Sunday of May,
The Day they all cried.
Fearful of becoming weak for Your Demise
He paints a smile on Your Face
For he couldn’t place one before you passed.
And now you’re the past,
And memories of you are passing him by.
His pain is now posing as a Desire To Be Great.
He won’t let his pain get in the way
Of making sure you’re proud of him. One day.
He places perfection on a canvas
On his mantelpiece
So he can be graced,
With A Memory.