Barefoot

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No bang or fizz left. 
No scarlet no flush
all gone to ice and cold
wrapped in beads 
and painted like a doll

Stood up to get you in
and then down again.
Laid among the cards 
and flowers 
The sundered hearts
and hot tears

They line up,
whispering bravado 
boys who have come
for good times sake 
and goodbyes sake

She kisses you, 
tears anoint your forehead. 
She holds your hands
begging you to stay.
Its France all over again

They came for you early, 
professional and polite, 
lightening her heavy load. 
Once more stood up
to take you out 
along the narrow hall.

Goodbye house, 
the place that would
now never be your home. 
Goodbye town 
that would never claim 
you as its own

A last short drive made long 
for the sake of tradition. 
But tradition 
would be shamed 
in your name this day

All turned askew 
for you. 
Do it your way they said 
and for you we did. 
To a packed house 
we wore our sorrow proud.

A final walk. 
A final song. 
On eagles wings of all things. 
A final prayer 
and then we left you there. 
Our hearts in your cold hands.

Afterwards 
I found your boots
under your bed. 
Dead and barefoot 
we laid our heart 
in the ground.

When you bury a child your life chances in myriad ways. They say what doesnt kill you makes you stronger. Sometime strength is a poor substitute for oblivion. I know there are others here who have felt this same pain and they know what this is about.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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