To One Who Died

“To One Who Died”

What is this ancient ache
That keeps me awake?
What is this demon inside my head,
That guides me to the dead?

This frail mortality said to me—
“Would not the ending set you free?”
And without voice I gave reply,
“Is his the way I’m doomed to die?”
This frail mortality spoke then clear,
“Nothing but pain awaits you here.
And none have seen the ways you have died.”
I said, “Then I am not satisfied.”

It burns my eyes---this fevered sound
As my mind kisses the voiceless ground.
I cannot sing to what ails me anymore,
While nothing awaits on the farther shore.

I just want to ache for the seasons—
A dance of death with these demons.
What sky can hold me when I die?
Or is death, like life, another lie?

I cannot use your death any longer.
And how dare you make me stronger?
There were no flowers that could cheer
At the breeding of that dismal year.
Now it comes and now it goes
That same wind that blows
Where your breath disappeared into twilight
Your remains ever behind the veil of sight.
Ah! Fragile was he who died so young
Before the songs of spring were sung.
What is this I see behind my eyes?
With every hour, again, he dies.
Desperate pleas for an end of that sound…
That terrible rattling of the drowned
And the stones upon the grave
Of he whose breath I could not save.

I hear it…what is this ancient ache?
It was not fair for you to make
A child grow so old in so short a span…
But that is the trial, that is the prize of man.

© 2022 Marten Hoyle