THE ANGELS CALL US HOME
Softly I call to you here in the twilight
And yet there’s no answer and the heavens are still.
When the rain clouds should thunder
And the earth tear asunder,
So deeply I miss you, my dreams unfulfilled.
Softly I call for you, the one I called Mother,
Your passing a darkness that covered the day.
Softly I mourn you, a soul like no other,
A void and an emptiness blocking my way.
Loudly I scream and curse at the sky.
How dare it be sunny, how dare it be blue
And how dare my life be allowed to continue,
Here in the wilderness pining for you.
As I clean out your basement the memories flood
Of a mother and son and a tie thick as blood.
The awards and the letters and the poems that you saved,
Recipes that intrigued you that you hoped to try some day.
The newspaper clippings and the old Christmas cards,
The pale yellowed reminders of time and all its scars.
The constant echo I hear of your laughter,
Caressing the ceilings, the walls and the rafters.
How you clung to precious memories,
For in the end they are all we own,
After our last breath is drawn
And the angels call us home.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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