Our conversation has been silenced, mid-speech
Our dance stalled, mid-trot
This sudden stillness rouses the
Pressing need to form my next words,
Lest the reaper comes before my next sentence is complete
Laughter has been ripped from my throat, mid-chuckle
Your rich baritone now echoes in slices of memory;
My inescapable lot henceforth
Soldier; march on while we dance on,
Before movement is stopped with that old man’s scythe
I wish to speak urgently
Yet words desert me
I wish to sing all the melodies now
Before the tunes are muted forever,
But broken strings can not strum sweet in the orchestra of life
In love, do you lift the veil,
Desperate to inform us all is well?
Is that your voice in the wind whispering to Jemie, Genevieve and the rest;
‘I am whole, worry not’?
Or do you shed tears instead, for songs yet unsung?
Tarry not, Soldier
Weary not your spirit over blood and friend turned foe in your absence
Let the discourse progress yonder,
Even as they celebrate your return in that realm
For what is a market if sellers do not wrap their wares at day’s end?
Your lusty songs will be hard to mute,
Your conversations more difficult to silence,
Immortalized on hearts and in print
Yet through heavy hearts we stand in salute
A true soldier once walked these terrains
A truer artist now awakens on distant shores