Beginnings and Ends

“I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.”

T. S. Eliot

Truth hangs;

Can you see my skeleton,

Waving from the noose?

Empathy scars;

But how can you see scars,

Seared and sketched on bones?

Misery saves;

Can you see a Messiah,

Blinded on a cross?

Days fell to oblivion

April came and went

May passed

But March stayed behind

And sat with us,

Within us,

Confiding, colliding

With what is left

From the track of our memories

It made us aware of what we’re missing

It made us aware of our blessing

Like shorts and legs and their half-dressing

Breathing lively awareness unto them

Of the winds passing between them

Red summer eves came,

Blowing small fires in marshmallows

Laughter rang like bells

Tear-soaked cheeks intoxicated the air

It fell helpless victim,

Blessed with a rare curse,

Giggling and wiggling about their hips

Heated amid their lips

Secrets changed heads

Like leaves change colour

And ears leaped with dolour

Faces lost their graces,

Turning red with ire,

Stealing from the night her pale fire

Martha's mirth grew duller

When her tummy grew fuller

And Tommy's head felt weary

When drowsiness made his eyes bleary

Bells all shut up

Eyes all glared with disbelief

When they saw a friction

Of a once great shadow sprawled

From a wealthy cloud -

Of apparent generosity -

To a land torn and eaten

By a parched sun

They saw a skeleton hanging

From a noose that's on a cross dangling -

Casting such a thin shadow

Giving neither solace nor relief

Only the horror of disbelief -

Its bones, alive, mute,

In numbing pain;

Unable to scream

Entranced, limbs paralyzed,

Suspended without the greyness of shade

All thoughts bland

They stood hand in sweaty hand

With one squalid image fixed

In all their eyes

Frigid, immovable

Heedless to the ambition of

The arms of any stirring fan

Voiceless,

Their voices hopelessly lost

Not even an echo of a dirge or a toast

Faint and faded,

How can a voice resound,

Without silence, how can it be found?

Well, it must have been horrific

Ague and agony terrific

Drowning smiles that were once prolific.

By A. Guy