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
Adieu Austyn!
