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I miss my grandmother. Sometimes I write poetry, I can't speak as to the caliber of the words, but it comes from the heart. So here is something I wrote about my grandmother (who died of complications of Alzheimer's). How do I miss that woman some days. Today is one of those days. Happy Mother's Day, Nana - you're missed.
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Remembering to Forget
by C. R. Rice

It’s not that I don’t miss you,
It’s that seeing your face hurts me so much,
So I hide all your photographs away,
And remembering your voice stabs at my heart,
So I keep those sounds at bay.
It’s not like I have a choice and it seems so dark,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,

And I wonder if that’s how you felt sitting,
With us by your side but not admitting,
And we fought so much just for nothing,
And God I miss when you were yelling,
How I’d give anything to hear that just one more time,
Because I never thought you wouldn’t be here,
You just marched on like a solider,
Even up to your last moments,
You fought and clawed until your last breath left,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,

And you tried to say something to us,
And that haunts me most because you weren’t silent,
But couldn’t speak or laugh or cry,
And I should have noticed so much sooner,
That something wasn’t right with you,
And I’ll carry that guilt until I die,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,

So here I am in your house writing,
You left it to Mom but it’s still your house,
And I pretend sometimes that you’re calling,
Hearing your voice in utter silence,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,

And I can’t sleep at night because I hear you crying,
In the living room where you lay dying,
How I wish I could have saved you,
I would have traded places with you,
I miss you so much,
But you forgot me by the end,
And I told you I loved you and made amends,
But they feel so hollow as I write this,
And the night bird calls back,
Saying don’t cry,
But the tears come any ways,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,

So I say I love you to empty air,
And hug you but you’re not there,
And I hope you would be so much prouder,
Because I’ve grown up but I’m still louder,
Than other people so it drowns the guilt I feel,
Because I didn’t see what was wrong with you,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,

And I think it’s killing me,
I smile and let the world pass by my window with a view,
And I’m screaming inside for just one more chance to see,
You dressed in your Sunday blue,
Standing by the door waiting for me,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,
 
Your smiling face,
And you’re gone,
I feel so out of place,
But I just have to hold on,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting,

And part of me wants to find oblivion,
And the rest says fight on,
And I know you’d tell me to pick myself up and begin again,
And that stays with me even though you’re gone,

Because I keep remembering that I’m forgetting.

ravenpenny: (Default)

@SigynLocke is home and I have never been so relieved in my entire life. We haven't been that far apart since I was 12. That was almost 20 years ago. I never want to be away from her again if I can help it.  I know why she had to go, and I do not begrudge her one bit. It was needed and had nothing to do with me. I have a nasty habit of making things about me (don't you, don't you?), but by God I missed the hell out of her while she was gone. What she went through isn't something you can instantly heal, but she's getting better and she knows she is loved, and surrounded by those who love her. She knows this. But I like to remind her as often as I can. Sometimes it's with little gifts, but I'm a poor man much to my shame. So often it is words that I give her. In tightly wrapped packages of paper and ink I give her riches in the form of prose and hope that she knows that she is my world, my sun, my stars, and my sky. That without her, life wouldn't be worth living. As the song guys "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, It's not warm when she's away." That about sums up my experiences. Life is dull and grey without her and when she is near the colors of this world sparkle before my eyes like the very palette of God himself. She makes my heart dance. She makes the wind sing. The way she moves brings poetry to my lips.


 

Ever Yours, Ever Mine


When the leaves fell I must confess,

I was reminded of you,

When the sun dimmed into the West,

The wind carried your name and I knew,


That you loved me best,

You came back to me my golden-haired love,

And I never would have guessed,

That you put me above,


Any other, but even so,

Your voice murmurs in my heart,

Into the dark places I must go,

Giving me comfort when we’re apart.


I’d walk endless miles,

Just to be with you again,

Just to see one of your smiles,

I’d suffer any pain,


There is nothing I wouldn’t do just to hold your hand,

And I know you feel the same,

So here I remain ever at your command,

All you must do is call my name,


And I’ll be there,

As fast as starshine,

And on a wing and prayer,

I’m ever yours and you’re ever mine.

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Occasionally, I write poetry. Well, compose anyways. I don't do it often because in order for me to compose I need to be feeling a extreme emotion. Extreme emotions are something I try to avoid. I try to remain as level-headed as possible at all times. No, I won't tell you why. It's just usually better if I don't go to high or to low. Anyways, I wrote this about my grandmother. Her passing has left me...off kilter. She was a pillar of strength that I drew on in both good times and bad. I miss her. This poem is about her:

 

The Cold Cold Ground


I was there when she ceased to be,

We were crowded around as she was set free,

And when she was gone,

And that thought I did dwell on,


When they laid her down,

In the cold cold ground,

The others began to cry

But my eyes remained dry,


I shook the hands of friend and foe the same,

I spoke politely to all who came,

They didn’t deserve to be with her there,

But who am I to decide what’s fair,


They wreathed her in roses of white,

On her neck were pearls so bright,

Her clothing was pressed and clean,

In her blue blue coffin she looked like a queen,


When they laid her down,

In the cold cold ground,

The others began to cry

But my eyes remained dry,


And that was the last of my grandmother I saw,

As the earth opened beneath her like a maw,

I miss her every day,

But life is for the living or so they say,


By C. R. Rice

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