snoswell

Death the uncoiling The silent glove That covers us over Open secret – unspoken yet known Hidden beneath curtains yet belonging to each, every one My father motionless in his casket of wood Grandfather fallen – his strong workman hands quiet at last And the pall leans over us like a shadow cast dim into our mourning Leading up to that moment when he lay so still, the misery of cancer lain to rest his tireless frame Still it lurks beneath my thoughts in daylight Trickles into my dreams Seeps doubt into my bones when I am weary Whispers tremors into my thinking as I watch my children sleeping Asking me have I done enough?