Blunt Force Trauma of the Hemispheres
Sleep...sleep is my brother,
Death, my escape.
Blossoms rise to skies so blue.
I thought I might dance
With all the dew in the air,
Rising from petals
Upon one breeze of spring.
Eclipse of my eyes
For a sigh so big and wide.
I will never reach Heaven,
But something waits for me there.
And my tears fly with dandelion seeds:
The world will turn without me,
But will stand still if you should leave.
The sun now fades.
Aurora only I can view
Echoes with an olden voice
Of words never spoken;
I yet pray one day to hear:
In some faraway spring
With frost yet upon the high grass
I may hear them, even in a dream.
I believe I shall hear them
Long after I have said, “Goodbye.”
© 2020 Marten Hoyle