Convictions

By Sarah O’Brien

Silence that deafens,

Accusation in your timbre,

As words hang unspoken,

A noose to our friendship,

Shared memories and laughter,

Begin fading away,

The power of the pen,

So clearly conveyed,

Letters curve and rise,

Across your page,

Convictions laid bare,

And later thrown away,

Certainty belies prudence it’s true,

Because certainty leaves little room,

For anyone but you,

A wistful glance at what could have been,

Now bonds lie broken,

Beyond redress it seems.

 

 

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Let go

By Sarah O’Brien

Fly with gossamer wings,

Far above the clouds and rainbows,

Where the rain man doesn’t exist,

Fly on air spun silk,

Across the bonnie glen, away from prying eyes,

Lay down your head forgetful,

Of what today brings

You carried her case

By Sarah O’Brien

If only you knew,

The memories it weighed,

Every line and groove,

Carefully sequestered away.

Smooth curls once bounced,

Bright lips parted so infrequent,

Stories etched across her skin,

And a Pillar box hat to hold the secret.

She stood at the station,

Unseen, unheard,

Forever & always,

A young-old girl,

You carried her case,

No thought in your gesture,

An act of kindness,

So simple a vesture.

From afar I watched,

As you helped her down,

No loud flashes or lights,

No crowds in maelstrom.

Oh, stranger, I want to thank you,

For so much, you’ve given me,

That one simple act of kindness,

Restored my faith in humanity,

                   You,

    You carried her case.

Goodbye

By Sarah O’Brien

Indignity has since abandoned,

Your kennel lies bare,

Remnants of a 16 year-old soul,

No longer stays there,

Ears that pricked,

At the slightest sound,

A bark that rang,

Excitement abound,

Photographs of winter,

Your face amongst the snow,

Loving companion,

Death is not a word I know.

Bobby

By Sarah O’Brien

His greying ears flick as flies attempt to land. A nose, once moist, is now cracked and dry. Parched he lies there waiting to die and we wait with him not knowing how to make the time pass more pleasantly for either of us. One eye sunken in sharp relief, his breath rank, jaw drooling, reminding us all of the penalty of old age.

But I can’t hold him now. Soon he will be gone and a part of us along with him. His brown and white body always so lithe and strong lays awkwardly now; shallow breaths come slower. Eyes, that if on a human, I would say crinkle at the edges when he smiles. Yet he doesn’t smile. He lies waiting and we with him, waiting, waiting for him to die.

It is a reminder that time does not stand still for any of us. He loved when we could not, he gave when we forgot and there he stayed protecting, loving, being there always. Soon he will not, soon he will be gone and a part of us with him.

Trekking

By Sarah O’Brien

The road ahead looks perilous. Its steep descents and winding streets loom in the near distance. A fear of what I can not know lays upon me like a thick layer of moor-side fog and I sit there, warmed only by the embraces of my thoughts. Cannots, whys and maybes swell from my chest and I’m fighting to quell it’s striking, ringing, choking grasp on my senses.

It’s quiet now and all is well for the moment. Tired eyes scrunch up, shading from the gaze of the sun and breakfast comes. The pitter-patter and creaks up the stairs hold me, guessing which as every step leads me, lost in my thoughts and memories. Early September mornings bring with them the smell of dawn and dew on the grass. Hoover sounds ring in my ears and yet they sleep contented.

Clock faces were made to teach the importance of time, but whose time I wondered. Instead four hands taught me the importance of patience and the precision of love. “I hate, I can’t and I won’t”, were met with the gentle roughness of your hands, holding mine, teaching me.

Vignettes of a time long gone remind me now that I can and I will be okay. The scary rush of mechanical voices, the babbling of the congeries daunt me still and I sit here and write.