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Settling Down in a Fog Drenched Mist

November 9, 2016

 

Settling Down in  a Fog Drenched Mist

A year has passed, a solitary year, a year left behind, soaking in the illusion that life matters legitimately a throw away son a daughter a father lost, a mother smothered to death in the fog of disconnect

calling you and knowing that you would never pick up the phone that our lives have drifted far beyond these shores to distant isles estranged, sanctuary protecting you from an embrace to hold to relish the countenance of a beloved child, a son, a daughter, a baby forgotten

A year has passed and you sit on the step at twilight remembering that it mattered to come in for supper from fantasies of divine happiness and expectation that you’d always be here

You feel the sudden chill of approaching dusk, life’s liberty dwindling in your hands cupped as the palms holding one’s heart seeking comfort in a friendly face, a frozen stare, that neither reproaches nor caress or comes near to embrace the furrowed countenance of age and frailty from ever being alone

You work yet harder to keep up as the end of the year comes knowing that you may have none left feeling the creeping in of resolve to clamor up the hill to get a better view, reaching a hand hold you forgot how aching your body is in the frozen night sky

you slip away in the shadows remembering celebrations of golden harvests music that ever revived your spirit and offered a face to hold and kiss you long to touch this fading memory withdrawing into dark recesses unburdened by the frigid air that now encompasses everything exposed.

You cry silently in the night peering vaguely into the firmament neither hearing nor understanding there is none wrapping a mantle around your naked shoulders

the night wind is your only shroud you cling to your cloak pull it close descending back into the recesses seeking the only cover that will protect you this night or any of Winterlude

when the embers fly into the firmament on the longest night you’ll be long gone out of sight forgotten a glimpse backward of a shell that crumpled in the storm

calling out shrilly where is my son, my daughter, my mother, father my home long gone

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