Left

They leave us.
No matter how many,
or much.
Once every decade,
or millennium.
An eternity might be.

They leave us.

---

Our many children,
an only blood.
Paper money, love letters
of our sweats.
A stolen opportunity, perhaps.

They leave us, too.

---

                    Like the warm wind of September,
                    a lady comes to talk to us of the hot summer
                    and the bleak December.
                    And she’ll roam about, perhaps too close,
                    and she goes around picking the pieces of
                    our jobs, our hunger, our hatred,
                    these hateful politicians and those hateful citizens,
                    their apprehension, their discomfort, their greed,
                    the needs of evil priests and evil parishioners.

                    The buoyant foamy filigrees of the reaper’s dress
                    fly in the breeze over the memorial seas,
                    as she glides in her compassionate shy lightness
                    and gently speaks to our ear and caresses our cheeks.

                    She takes our true selves not, but we go back to where we’d come.
                    She takes it all, everything right and wrong.

                    And all leaves us, even our flesh.
                    They leave us for good.

---

Source

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A Personal Comment:

As all leaves in the end, just as we do, too, I wanted to use a refrain which carried that message. The images of a sailing boat seemed appropriate to represent departure. As I’ve done it before in my writing, the Reaper is a lady, instead of a man; I find it more romantic and soothing, for it conveys feelings of protectiveness and ease to contrast with those of punishment and severity traditionally associated to manhood.

Thanks for reading.

See you tomorrow with another poem.

Category III

I've used Imgur.com to modify the images accompanying the poem. You can check the original pics by clicking on the "Source" hyperlink.

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