Poetry: The Quiet Wake

Hey all,

Here is a poem that I have been working on for a few days. After the tragedy of the Earthquakes and Tsunamis in Japan though I re-worked portions of it to reflect some of what I assume some people may be going through now, dealing with loss and heartache and longing for those lost. I don't suppose it's all that uplifting but I didn't really have an uplifting poem in me after watching the tragic news coverage the past few days. I hope you find some measure of merit in the poem and I thank you for reading. I'll be back with some new Flash Fiction tomorrow.

The Quiet Wake


I had a dream in which I died,

But at my funeral no one cried.

I walked among the silent wake,

And wondered how the world could shake.

Torn from life by nature's wrath,

Whose fury cut out a path.

Storm and winds had come to head,

As the quake of Earth struck us dead.

So many taken by the raging storm,

Mine, a single life lost in form.

I looked to my father, lost in gaze,

Who said no words, his eyes a glaze.

My mother dabbed at driest eyes,

Her tears had now long since dried.

My brother sat and raged and fumed,

In remembrance of the fires that plumed.

My friend he sat, struck by thought.

Longing for the friend he sought.

But at the chair where my love did sit,

The empty space lay open, remit.

Taken too by the worldly clamor,

She now lay rest in death's own glamor.

So many lives were taken today,

As you hear the world stop and pray.

And even though many were lost,

Survivors often feel the cost.

But now I walk among my friends,

A ghostly shade here at the end,

I cast my eyes towards a burning dusk,

The rays of the afterlife shedding its husk.

I begin to think of those I leave behind,

And start to wonder what's more unkind.

To move beyond those you love,

While you await in Heaven above?

Or to long for something forever lost,

Regardless of the hurt it costs?

So as I fade into the sun,

The quiet wake falls undone.

I watch the pieces of my life,

Separate and break, their sorrows tithed.

A gathered band, unique in their loss,

As one last time our paths would cross.




End of Line.
Gerrad!