CONVERSES

OUR LAST.

It is you, my son,
my first thoughts think on
at dawn's dull light;

 

it is you I hope to see
in dark dreams at night,
it of you my last thoughts hold

 

as I drift to my drugged sleep;
memories of you
I hold and keep;

 

years of yore,
of childhood days,
holidays and day

 

to day visits,
wishing things were
as they were before.

 

It is loss of you,
my son, that wounds
my heart, that tears

 

open and apart,
that final time
we spoke, solemn,

 

you in pain,
no light heartedness,
no humour, no joke.  

 

It is of you my son,
my mind returns to,
and the loss reminds me

 

of our mortal state,
moment to moment
ticking by, taking

 

for granted each day
we live, each person
we love, each kiss,

 

each exchange
of words we cast,
not thinking each

may be our last.

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