Time, taken

By Carole Blackburn

Lying awake

In the darkness, she cries alone.

The clutter of her yesterdays, amongst am I, is known.

 My smooth touch, to her is all but remote and cold.

Sounding out I am, aware and being as I can, bold.

The night comes and crowds

Her thoughts

Her future imagined

should, she dare.

 

Her days lingering, longing, for his return.

How time stands still in distant shores, she knows,

She yearned.

In all ways, her touch with him, through me.

Forever, a reminder of the time shared, should be?

A precise, punctual friend, remains to have and hold.

Brown paper wrapped, tied with string that day.

Bloodstained, but now, so old.

I am wounded, repaired, she is told.

Though his time

Silence deep in the ground, he has gone.

Her memories, they continue to go on.

 

In and out as the night hours,

hounds and swallows time away.

As the Dawn, lifts her for another day to

toil with her emotions, in depth.

Days on days, gone by, she wept.

For in his pocket, sat I.

My one desire, displaying, doing.

My job remains always,

Time to keep.

Glanced in moments,

For reassurance of when

he would hope, again her to meet.

Had the War machine won the day?

Battled by their marching feet.

With cries of woe and pain, as

 they were in the real defeat.

But my chimes, quietly charmed

While in her palm.

Though, no rest she will have in sleep.

As the path, he trod, with them

Eternally, human beings, too Deep.

 

Copyright Carole Blackburn            

November 2021