by Sean Stewart
Friday, February 24, 2006
Not rated by the Author.
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Inspired by the funeral of very popular Scottish lady in a rural churchyard where I played the bagpipes.
The reference to the "cloak" was the view I had of all 500 or so people swarming out of the church like ants, huddling together in a triangular formation that appeared to move and sway like a cape being gently blown in the wind!
Her life was over – her clock now silent.
No more movement in the hands of time,
Although time did not cease for those that came to morn.
They huddled there, like a cloak,
Fighting to keep the cold mist at bay
And wrapping Her memories safe and warm
In its protective folds.
It was a good life, that left plenty in its wake,
Like a wave rolling up the shore
And then returning from whence it came,
Its precious gift of shells
Gently bedded in the sand
Waiting for some passing stranger to find.
The pain was now for those that remained,
And as jewelled tears rolled down ashen cheeks
To nourish the freezing ground
That would now bare Her soul,
The stranger looked on sensing their loss
Whilst the cold attacked his very senses too.
The damp fog seemed to reach out,
Striving to give back the breath of life
That was now extinguished.
It tried to wrap its white ghostly arms around those stood nearby,
Clawing and pulling them into the dark forbidding void.
Glassy eyes turned to the stranger
Stood motionless on the cold grassy knoll.
The merest nod: a sign, a signal
As he drew new breath like a fresh born child.
The burning cold seared his lungs
Whilst his fingers sprang to life
Dancing over holes that were already there.
The piercing cry sliced through the mist
Driving it from whence it came
Freeing those that had seemingly frozen in time,
And melting their hearts so they might once more live again
Safe in the knowledge She would not be forgotten.
The airwaves danced like rain drops on a leaf
As the stranger’s tune made a path to the heavens
Letting the sunlight flood down warming the left over tears
That no longer froze as they pooled on the floor.
And with the warmth, the cape was discarded,
For now was a happy time and its use redundant.
The stranger was the last to leave
For he waited until they had all gone before he bid his last farewell.
And although he was now once again stood silently,
His music still carried far into the distance
As a treasured memory,
Echoing Her life and carrying Her memory for eternity.
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|Reviewed by A PAX
|I could see and hear this in my mind...........
Feel the air
|Reviewed by Elizabeth Taylor (Reader)
|Wow, I could hear that bagpipe.
|Reviewed by E T Waldron
|Very beautifully written prose, with visuals that took me there
in a vivid word painting! Superb read! Thanks for sharing!Welcome
to the den!