Poetry

Gone – December II (for Bean)

By 11th June 2009December 9th, 2019No Comments

I dreamt of you last night,
but couldn’t see your face,
a blur that fades from black to white,
an image that lingers,
from night into day
a waking fugue.
We were playing in the park,
walking by the river,
sailing yachts in the pond,
cycling in the woods.
None of these things happened,
you understand ?
Instead they were snatched away,
cruelly,
without reason,
without thought,
the ominous silence of a sonogram,
a condemnation,
a sentence to death,
the pain of simple words,
stock phrases,
cold and clinical,
sharper than any knife.
No gravestone,
no memorial,
no wreath,
just a fading memory
of what might have been.
All we have of you are dreams,
Imagining a life that can never be,
things we could have done,
places we might have gone,
all washed away,
like crying in the rain,
tears that fade to salty tracks,
while pain still lingers,
never to have known you,
yet still to miss you,
is what hurts the most.

Mark Dron

Author Mark Dron

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