I couldn't come to visit you, <br />After we followed up behind you, <br />And the four men carrying; <br />They really had no right to. <br /> <br />Some difficult path that was, wasn't it, <br />Putting you into box, then leaving you, <br />Lowered under turf? <br />I thought my gaunt expression then, <br />Would sink like turf should. Put away, <br />Forget; the buried soil, the rot. <br /> <br />And yet, it still catches me occasionally, <br />When I think of the last complete picture <br />Before this. I cannot go back <br />At you sticking up, erect; refusing death. <br /> <br />I will think some allusive thought, <br />That you are up and about walking <br />The mass of graves late at night, <br />Refusing to sink. <br /> <br />How do I handle your still fresh grave <br />And settle you to sleep in my heart? <br />I cannot bare coming back with you <br />Running rampant through my veins. <br />There is no relief in putting your face <br />Away in boxes where I do not cease to see <br />You reminding me constant; <br />As every beat, you add a murmur too. <br /> <br />When I have trouble finding your mark, <br />Your precise spot, I will visit again <br />Your plot that set you out from every stone, <br />Is ground, just land that settles down <br />And makes it right. <br />Everyone the same, today, and <br />Tomorrow's light.<br /><br />Louis Payne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stepping-out-slowly/
