Spring Delayed

Shades

of a grey, spring morning.

The clouds have settled in

and it’s cold enough to snow.

Celebrations

of a venerated season

have been postponed.

There’s so much left to do.

 

Blink my eyes

and try to adjust

to the half-light.

The world’s dimmer now,

without you.

Even though

you were a hero,

it doesn’t make

bearing the pain of loss

any easier.

 

I sit,

staring out the front window

at that old, yellow car

across the way.

Tired,

corroded,

faded;

it has been sitting there

forever and a day.

And that’s how I feel;

like spring delayed.

Worn and bleached bare

by my emotions

and seasons half-turned.

 

I can’t turn on the TV,

or look at my phone,

because they all want to say

how brave you were,

but it won’t bring you back.

All I can think,

is how terrifying it must have been;

the loud gunfire,

the screams,

the chaos

and you;

ready to lay down your life

for everyone else.

Such a mad distinction.

 

Now,

you are gone

and spring refuses to come

and none of my tears,

or prayers,

seem to change that.

You died a hero,

of that there is no question.

Leaving us

to muddle through our sorrow

in the grey light

of a long,

unchanging season.

 

HG – 2019

 

2 thoughts on “Spring Delayed

  1. This is beautifully written prose on love, remembrances and pain associated with loss. This poem touches my heart for the hero and for you. Thanks for always showing the vulnerable side that I feel most poets have whether they are willing to share that side of themselves or not. Love your work it always touches me.

    Liked by 1 person

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