Scattered Echoes |
| by Todd-Michael St. Pierre |
Flowers for a grave, Both dainty and distressing, As tears escape twin rivers of the soul. Convenient time I gave, Infrequently expressing, The sentiment between routine and role. Words left unspoken, Considered unnecessary, Sunshine and shadows, petals and tears. Now the bridge is broken, The chance was temporary, To cross back and stroll through tender years. Eulogies and regret, As mysterious as Jade, I failed to say just what I really meant. A cemetery debt, For love that went unpaid, And greeting cards I never even sent. |
This is the second time I've lost an important person in my life, and I feel really guilty for not having been a better grandchild. She's still here with us, in a way, but I will never reach her anymore. So many things I didn't tell her and so many times I didn't visit her and spend time with her. I doubt she knew how important she was to me, how much I have learned from her. She didn't even get to meet the love of my life, the one who makes me really happy. She doesn't know who I've become nor what I am now. There's nothing I can do anymore, just feel guilty and bear the burden of my heavy conscience.
A Passing Afternoon
There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms
There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe in the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from their piles of fallen leaves
There are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children 'till she let's them go at last
And she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds
There are things we can't recall, blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls
But my hands remember hers, rolling 'round the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned
There are names across the sea, only now I do believe
Sometimes, with the windows closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes and they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone
There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms
There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe in the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from their piles of fallen leaves
There are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children 'till she let's them go at last
And she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds
There are things we can't recall, blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls
But my hands remember hers, rolling 'round the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned
There are names across the sea, only now I do believe
Sometimes, with the windows closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes and they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone
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