Lugh’s Garden

Sometimes in the night,
I think about my father,
And the pain he had,
Boiling around inside him
Like a swarm of angry bees.

Sometimes in the night,
When the air gets heavier,
And the ozone smell
Makes me stop what I’m doing,
I listen for his complaints.

Sometimes in the night,
I hear the life-sounds quiet
Around me, and I
Feel his last resolution,
Before he pulled the trigger.

Sometimes in the night,
I sit alone and wonder
What makes death okay
For someone who spent his life
In mortal fear of dying.

He went, not gently,
Into that dark night, but in
Control of his destiny;
And still, I hear him calling
To me, sometimes in the night.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 5th, 2006 at 3:26 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.