The funeral in July….

Dearest t.o.,

The whites of his eyes were almost brown
one look I knew
death would hang around
thou some would not notice
It was a color I knew
a dark deep color,
one that paints with dark hues.

We spoke for a few,
just a few feet away
his Dad laid to rest
buried that day,

it was near where he lay.
She spoke your name,
her tired timid  voice
asking if “T.O. came?”

 
from where it came?
I don’t know for sure,
[but] her eyes lit up, that was pure
joy in your name,
we love you so,
we miss you to,

this poem is to you T.O.

No need to explain this one, just something I needed to write this morning, a poem for a great poet friend of mine from many years ago. I read his poems often, and his words resonate with me. I am certain that growing up in such a very small town and knowing him as I did, from such an early age, ( i had a crush on him in the first grade) that to be able to see this man grow into such wonderful poet and know that he was able to follow his passion inspires me every day.

That poem tells a story, about a funeral I went to this summer in our little hometown. I believe I will leave it at that.

I want to put one of  T.O.’s poems here now;

time leaks.( by t.o. wilson)

somewhere from the soft pores
of living too much
the way we were always warned
not to live.

when people who loved us
hid the colors so from us
and erased the words
they did not wish us speak.
write.
ever.

for ever was something
we knew we could not touch
but that still did not keep us
from wanting  it just as much,
and somewhere
time leaked.

surely, from the things we said
that made someone laugh
and cry
at the same moment.

turn a mirror
into their own soul
knowing they could never turn
it away,
but what they saw was wondrous
and
burned for always into them.
and
what they beheld
was truly beautiful,
for what they heard was:
true,
and
beautiful.

by
t.o. wilson
Enough Words

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