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 Jun 2016 Mary Catherine Morra
ky
a shadow
whispered to me
my only companion
left as quickly
as it came
and i just stood there
in the middle of the night
looking towards where it went
wondering if i'll ever see it again
Tell me, do you miss me?
Do you think of me at night?
Do you wish that,
You could hold me
And tell me that everything's alright
Do you hear me in the songs you sing
Or see me in all the little things
You do.
Cause those are all the things
I want to tell you.
Faces of the sun
Fill the halls
Eyes that shine
Six feet tall
Run and play now
The summer calls!
.
In a cavern long about the edge of time
dwells a sadness deep upon my heart,
where fragments of my imagination
cry out from a desolate vault,
iron clad and riveted
of a stone mason’s might
Welded shut, encrusted with fear
and loneliness in unsealed envelopes
addressed to someone other than me

Where neighbors retrieve and process,
regardless of names and stamped signatures,
unwilling to pay the postage now due
of an encased memory shoveled
away to linger on each crow’s feather
that falls from the reaches far above my head,
dropping square tears from round eyes,
mapping my cheeks
in solitary traces of vertical weeping

Self imposed some may say,
and they could be correct, though
when it comes to forgotten, that heart of gold,
worth more than its weight in life,
pays more attention to the fate of others
than collecting breaths of this or any
next door, across the fence wisdom
For if they hurt, those who shouldn’t,
then what is the use

With heavy stone in hand I tap,
loudly on the reinforced tarnished structure
in a series of dots and dashes,
rhythmic chaos to some,
but patterned to the beat of my heart
saying, you are loved, you are cherished,
you are needed and most importantly,
you are not alone, hoping the chanting echoes
land upon listening ears,
and you can smile once more
and I can feel it
he had little to give, but gave it still
from his warm and generous heart
beating with a love pure and good
for his sister's children
so he seized the moment to stamp a value on my mind
gave me his prized bronze bottle opener
a fringe benefit from some fat kitchen where once he worked
with hot spices, sizzling grills and artistic salads
and now i have lost it, a thing of more than sentimental value
these gestures can never be repeated
they are the products of inspired moments
when somehow you know there can never be another chance
to leave some evidence that you too were here
Done!
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