AGING & DYING

Cold
as ice
I see him
shroud less and bare
on the slab over there
like a ghost without a care
in the dark and fading, hidden light
where I wish I could hold him near
as I beg the angels to say a prayer
that he will hear in the dark and twilight hour.
O’ dad! "How I miss you so, after all these years".
God of mercy! "Save the soul of my dad who is dead”.

I closed his eyes in my mind and turned away to pray
that I may cry alone, in our home on the farm
where I remember him sitting in the old rocking chair
on the porch smoking his pipe, telling me stories
of how he helped his dad and mom
to rake and clean away the hay
that lay in the old furnace-
To burn away all day
and die in ashes-
Like me, who
now cries
within.