"Being an artist is like wearing cruel shoes and loving it"

Sunday, June 7, 2009

October Moon



October Moon

We damned the sun for shining
The morning after
So we fumbled , lost and broken
Blinded by our pain
And the hours bled away...
(come home, come home, come home)
So surreal the bubbles
Floated to the ground
Deafening in their beauty
Like her, too beautiful to last long
Ephemereal, fleeting, they fall
(We fall)
October is the cruelest month,
Her favorite, so ironic
It will always be her month
As the leaves turned,
Just as she turned.
(Turn, turn, turn)
And the house, so full of her
Is empty, despite the crowds
Echos of her sound off every wall,
Hellos and Goodbyes long gone...
Her laughter hasn't died
(But nothing gold can remain)
So, surrounded by her face
We wait with grapes and flowers
For our Tia to come home
Or for someone to help us pick up the pieces
(come home, come home, come home)
Stacy Gardner

1 comment:

geewits said...

Your poem is beautiful and it breaks my heart.