Belated Words

Write On!

Tag: guilt

  • memorial

    Separation is the state of final
acknowledgement of the absolute.
Existing in relation to all, you cannot
complete yourself but we will be here,
remembering your name, speaking humbly,
offering colorful ribbons and tears.

Sacrifice is the act, the act that ends.
Who made the choice is not the point to argue;
you were chosen or made the choice yourself.
Whether the cause was just or not or moot,
something was required and you were loss.
Now, you  have that knowing that eludes us.

Placated, soothed by ritualistic words,
we read hollow text and embarrassed by
uncouth grief and the shriek of loss we pray,
speaking of the Ultimate Sacrifice;
we whisper the name of that demigod.
Here….we will never have that knowing.

Guilt is the word, the word that tells;
leaving no room for elaboration.
We wrap your bones with no dreams in
The Cave of the Devoured Prolifics.
On occasion, we hear their soft clacking;
lighting candles, we appease with chants.


This is a reblog of an old poem which I am sadly reminded of every year.

  • Witness

    The leaves are gone.  Wind rejoices in
Their leaving for their dance betrays;
Painting hints of body on his shame.

Shoulders cringe under iced breath
ravaging this frigid, emptying street.
Chimes to the right sing winds intent,

To flee this memory, falling behind,
To allow us to lie in a contrived bliss
Like those wreaths on those graves.
    The leaves are gone.  Wind rejoiced in
their leaving for their dance betrayed:
painting hints of body on his shame.

A witness of this carnage, he whirled
in helplessness, sharing horrid chaos
with us despite our hands over our ears.

Shoulders cringe beneath iced-breath
ravaging this frigid, manicured yard.
Chimes to the right sing winds intent

to flee this memory, fall far away,
to lie in a contrived complacency like
these plastic wreaths on these graves.

  • Lumbricidae guiltos uniquitous

    Nothing is hidden, buried perhaps;
    dozed over by heavy machinery
    or a synapses misalignment sends
    the thing astray or it sits waiting, but
    it is not unknown and, unlike you and I,
    reeks of patience till revelation.

    There’s a creature, little known and blind,
    that eats its wandering way about;
    much like, in appearance, Lumbricidae
    and without judgment devours the gist
    of us, leaving a trail of detritus to be
    burned in heaven’s fire on that final day.