the platitudes of willful resemblance

Sylvia part 1

I listen to your voice,
late November,

reliving a moment long
worn away by time’s
passing
and memory.

did you mean to see it out,
taste of poison
fruits? or come
back.
all questions lingering
and a scar,
a very real scar,
traces round our heart,

I’ll show you if you come to see.
no charge,
no heart beats like ours

out of the ash, we sift
and sift, but find
no more

no phoenix burning
the midnight air.

Suicide – Sylvia part two

February, 11 2013
you are gone today
fifty years gone
left,
without a word
after
a lifetime of words
each neatly arranged
each carefully reviewed
a life meticulously considered
but
you no longer suffer
and
your pain ended

I wonder what your last words were
who they were to
a goodbye and kissing your children
perhaps
a goodbye and that is all

how are we to mourn
each passing hour
is a passing day
and this just another
poem
about your death
which you couldn’t write
anymore

you staggered
and saw it out
confessional until the last
asleep
on a pillow
the sun rising to meet its
worshiper.

– Hoc Scripsi