a poem in my pocket

A poem of lament, in shape of candlestick, dedicated to family of Lukas Monsma

young voice sings to guitar
sweet, yet haunting
oh, my son, I can
hear your song
on the wind

memories
don’t leave us
alone in the dark
nearly pull us apart
by plucked heart strings
strumming addicted to grief
cold, thin, mountain air
stealing our breath
mingles yours
high in sky

i’m sorry for
what was unsaid
life hangs by a thread
as we still wait for you to
turn around and come home

…and sharing music by David Nevue, “Under a Cloud” and “The Long Regret”