THE GRAVES

My father’s grave—a solemn place;
Still yet, I see his haggard face,
His pain—the suffering—at his end;
My God!  Spare me that dark fate’s friend!

And on I walked across a field,

Once grass and rocks and dirt;
Each step through granite stone and bone
Gave wince with someone’s hurt.

And grieve, ye son!  Tis time of death;

Hold fast Dad’s hand with his last breath;
There’s chance to mourn and time to cry. . .
And kiss the soul with last goodbye.

At last I saw it tinted pink,

The stone that bore her name
I came to stand at Mother’s grave,
Filled with useless shame.

They crowded round his bed and prayed;

I held his hand and long I stayed
With brother talking of our Dad
Until we knew his soul had fled.

But Mother died alone with God;

It shouldn’t be that way.
No tears I’ve shed; I choke them down,
For guilt might wash away.

One day comes tears for Mom deserves the best;
I cried as Dad joined God in final rest;

I know that both are Heaven touched and blessed.
I can’t forget the lonely way Mom passed.

                                    --Monty Wheeler

Babbles: many shades

Babbles: many shades: from: POET’S SWORD I’ve unkempt hair and wild-eyed stare; On paper’s white and callused glare, My pencil flies like winded kite, And ...

HUNGER

*dark’s the place I wander in;

walk where stark reality’s thin
and darkness lights the fears within*

HUNGER

“Come nigh, My Pretty; bow to me,

“And give me of sweet misery,
“For on your tears, I feed, you see;
“Now come, My Pretty, cry for me.

“And bleed for me; I’ve want to hear

“Your silent screams of agony.
“And run away, but you’ll come back
“To know me more in secrecy.

“Now come dark angels in the wind;

“You’re naught but carrion;
“Into the depths of Hell, they’ll bring
“Your fears I’ll always feed upon.

“Come nigh, My Pretty, don’t you see

“I’ve need; I’ve set my hunger free
“To roam within your soul’s dark place
“And eat of your last sanity.”

                        --Monty Wheeler