My Gran.

Recently I did a sketch of my gran who passed away earlier this year from an old photo taken of her in her youth.  Following is also a poem I wrote in the weeks following her passing, an expression of how I felt on the subject.

Day Player.

In the vastness that is our Universe,

I am but a forgotten cameo upon the reels of time,

My place is as a player; enacting anew each day,

The sordid truth of our lives.

With each new curtain fall renewed applause,

Great joy of the celestial one’s O Princes of Heaven,

Well does our farce amuse and delight you,

Recollection of forgotten pain.

See how I praise this ending as I look to new beginnings,

With Dawn’s curtain rising will come another play,

The act of another living day,

Another life’s record for the pyre.

Woe be this hypocratic eternity forever undressing,

Enacted anew with each new day; mirror of the past,

With each new pyre the flaming seed,

Conception of the Dawn.

With each new burning the Nightfire’s dancing,

Alighting a play of their own devising,

Inspiration afire as flames do dance about the pyre,

Their dance pure worship of forever,

The burning truth of us all.

D. 11