At the Graveside

In order to remember,

I walked myself to graves,

both strange; and family members,

thinking I behave,

to seek their wisdom wisps,

upon the smoggy air,

and perhaps a verbal whip,

that I would deem, so fair,

in such a focused state,

I fled; our struggle plain,

hoping to escape the hate,

the living do profane,

fake promises, were washed,

by ghosts, as the hosts,

my soul could have been quashed,

so, I swept away my boasts,

a Pendle girl arose,

seething was her guise,

aching in my comatose,

I listened to her cries,

she looked upon my hat,

called me “bastard hunter!”

I replied “I am not that,

I’m merely life’s punter.”

“A torch, I do not wave,

like the flock that killed,

scared Jennet, could not have saved,

your family from the quill.

It’s of little solace,

but here’s poetic praise,

an easy mob, is malice,

lo’ ones, are better ways!

Dear Alizon, retired,

knowing me as friend,

then familial fire,

returned to me again,

gulping down so hard,

I saw my father’s mother,

weeping at my façade,

“you’re just like the others!

Though you said goodbye,

you abandoned, just the same,

thus, your love was just a lie,

so, take part of the blame!”

I spluttered back, “dear Nana,

you brutalised my Dad,

selected lover’s blah blah,

to create a house so sad,

though we shared some joy,

your neglect was easy choice,

now that I am no longer boy,

I have to raise my voice,

know, some love remains,

out of primal habit,

whilst I still live, I’ll feel the pains,

like humble Buddhist rabbit!”

After such a sleep,

I woke up shivering,

wiped away, the tears that seeped,

deserved triggering,

the sound of cars, and bird tweets,

recalled me back to here,

where I’ll continue filling sheets,

trying not to fear.