Stubbornly Dragging The Broken Past In Front Of Himself, Again

He has a busted nose
from twice bumping into Yesterday,
earlier on this very morning.
Those restless ‘Dogs’
inside his backwards looking head
will not ‘Lie’ nor ‘Sleep’
for a moment.
Should be picking himself up
and getting on with the day, really,
yet, he would suicide without her.
Since they cremated
her once argumentative, beautiful bones,
he’s lost all meaning outside of memories.
It’s the Past which keeps him
half-warm in the wee hours…
hope and future planning
don’t even come into it.
Feeds and cleans his frail body
when he can and must…
it’s within his museum-mind
where any real living happens.
He’ll see her again soon,
he just knows it…
awaken from this cold Winter
once more to her warm Summer smile.
He’s not bitter, envies no one
and pays no mind at all
to the people and nonsense around him.
For these days are but a Test
and each passing one
a sure step closer…
to her open loving arms of gentle, Forever.

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography
published in many publications around the world. He yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids
instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet.
Buy his books Scribblings Of A Madman (Lit Fest Press); Poetry From The Nearest Barstool; and a split poetry book The Raven And The Vagabond Heart with Bethany W Pope. You can also read his poems and stories here! Read other…

Read more