They were alone at last.
On his knees.
His face wet with falling tears.
How he always liked him.
Hands clasped tight in front of him.
His voice hoarse from begging.
His knees wet with the tears that have fallen.
How he always wanted him.
He waited for the stark voice of his command.
He waited for the tantalizing touch of his control.
How he always needed him.
He knew he waited in vain.
So, he looked up at last.
In wet tears of grief.
In front of the marble headstone.
How he never imagined him.
National Poetry Month for 2021 Day 6
Muse does enjoy taking things in an unexpected direction. Sorry/not sorry.
This poem haunts me. I read it from the start, wondering where the turn was going to come – it had to, somehow, but- oh. What a difficult and tragic scene. I’ve felt the same – the waiting in vain for a response, a touch, anything, the impossible feeling that this human is physically gone save this stone. You’ve captured it so beautifully.
Why thank you, Lainie. It is tragic.