Llangammarch Blaze

simonhlilly

Llangammarch Blaze

There now, lay it all down,
The soft memory and the memory of hard bone.
After the year’s first true frost
A dead sheep lies in the field becoming a dance of hawks and ravens.
And on a lonely hillside unremarked
A blaze has born the babies away.
A smudge of smoke and the light of morning
Is no prayer of peace to ones who wait
Empty-hearted for better news.
The village, warm now in sun, silent.
Thoughts unthought of before – friends vanished,
Those known, now unplaced, a hollowness
Around memory clung to.
It is an uncertain anchor to hold on to –
This world that blinks apart from day to day.
Should we rise and flow like the oak leaves
On the cold dark currents of the Irfon?
Or wrap around like ivy, cling like lichen bloom
To this weathered stone.
We are a thin soil…

View original post 129 more words

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on November 14, 2017, in Poem - Not Written By Me Though, Reposted from elsewhere. Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. We Are a thin soil. I love this poem. “This world that blinks apart from day to day.” The temporality of it all is best remembered if one is to live fully. Good write.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ben, thank you for sharing this post and also the background story. So very tragic….

    Liked by 1 person

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