He looks at me with charcoal eyes
As I take his hand,
But my eyes will not divert from his midnight suit
Void of hopeful stars.
I smell the stench of winter, of sadness, of lost time
As it plagues this sorry room, full of sorry souls.
Everyone looks foul here as their say their final goodbye
To their father, their neighbourly foe, their friend.
I feel the pain of a broken cloud and I feel every drop spilt
From all other misty charcoals
And their battered lashed disdained
From this mutual ordeal of loss.
He was too bold, too bright, too young
His tale was still unsung
Whilst the people he left behind lay broken
In a field of fluorescent darkness
I close my eyes to it, as death enchants another soul.
(Inspired by the Allison Hallett workshop.)