The Sixth Christmas

16 Nov

We say the years go fast,

But there was a time deep in my past

Where time stood still

And dragged like a mill stone around my neck.

I watched myself on high,

A diminished man sitting on a cane couch to sob and cry.

Muttering in disbelief that his world is real.

In the darkness he would sleep but never rest

The bags under his eyes failed the test.

Time creeping ever so slowly, and still the pain.

Never going, nothing changing, slowly moving insane.

Sitting still on the yellow chair

Imagining your view when you sat there.

Patiently watching and waiting for your day to come.

Space can be empty, lonely and numb.

Like the tide the nest empties and fills

The only constant is that he is there still.

The birds have grown and are leaving the nest.

Grown into their plumage showing us their best.

And like a train the sixth Christmas approaches

Rattling methodically into our lives, it encroaches.

The movement of time accelerates to speed.

To the nest they return, the fruit of our seed,

To celebrate our loving togetherness.

To drive out the cold emptiness.

To renew and refresh.

To make us more, never less.

Silently acknowledging the empty hollow

Of the emotion we call sorrow.

The warm summer sun thaws the frozen heart.

And family will play their part

To restore that which cannot be healed by cardiac suture.

From a darker past to a brighter future,

The sixth Christmas approaches.

Craig (12/09/2016)

Craig Buller

Bad Water