Once so stout and personality glowing,
then so frail and wordless
as your flame no longer flickered
to the beat of your softening breath.
My mother, I love you still!
Always and forever until the day I see you again.
Where the torchlit halls of heaven
will lead me back to you.
Now old in the grave you are,
as I, your son, may soon follow young.
Neither you nor I ever imagined it,
not in all our conversations by the candlelight.
There hasn’t been a candle flame
in the years since your passing.
Only a stout, black, and cold wick
of what once was of our talks.
As far as I’m concerned,
my father was the ghost,
who lived yet gave no breath –
no flickering in his eyes, ever.
As for you, my good mother,
that last breath of your candle,
that last flickering within your eyes
as you looked into the youthful glow of mine.
Someday, our hands will reunite.
Someday, our eyes will reconnect.
Someday, our conversations will reconvene.
Someday, our loving bond will go on glowing.
Very tender and loving, as it should be. You are fortunate to have her as inspiration. It has paid off well.
Beautifully penned, Daniel. Such a tender write my friend, amazing work. Appreciate you.
Damian