Swept the Easter sunrise into bouquets
and placed them under this pillow
which has held my dreams from the cradle
to the biography jukebox,
do you remember singing me to sleep?
It’s funny how scent of roses
fuse childhood garden into loving
memory of arms across my shoulders,
oh a football hooligan? Surely not,
he laughed util his breath died
The wreaths we placed
would never become trees
acorn or oak, never to soak the soil
burial can be as lonely as children dying
Please hold Jenny, Lori and Billy
and tell them I will be home soon,
my sunset bleeds in the moon’s craters
deeper than gravity, how final breaths
are simply what astronauts sing to Jesus
we fucking love you
hello dearest Rob this is full of beautiful memories and pain my parents died the same year as well ❤️
Dude, outstanding. It’s one of your best, most telling. Probably because the emotional attachment was already so fluid.
You’re like a plant that outgrows its pot, needing to expand. You are great at word choice and overall craft.
Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Excellent write with lots of layers my friend. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian
Dear R,
Oh man! This is gut wrenching, loving, heartbreaking and outstanding in one breath. That concept of life goes on after death or trauma is bullshit. It goes on but in a very altered state. This piece has wings. Fabulous write. H🌷