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Array
(
[sid] => 144644
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Long Gone Son
[time] => 2008-08-20 15:40:25
[hometext] => This poem is based on a true story - all of this happened not far from where I live
[bodytext] => The dad shook the hand of his only son, as they waited by the road for the bus to come. He was leaving home for better life, and maybe settle down and find a wife. “There’s nothing left here” the old man said as he looked around and shook his grey head. “This droughts got us beat and that’s a fact and I gotta feeling son you won’t be back.” The son gave his dad a friendly slap “Come on dad you know I’ll be back I’ll make some money to help us out the rain will come and end this drought.” The bus disappeared in a cloud of dust, The man held back tears ‘cause he knows he must. No signs of weakness to let him down Just a lonely old man in a field so brown. Now he stands out there on that sun cracked ground and with pain in his heart he looks around. He pleads with the sky but the rains don’t come and he scans the road for his long gone son. Well it’s been two years since his son left home And there on the verandah all alone Sits an old man with gun in his hand A beaten man in a broken land. The last of the sheep are long since dead Caught in what was left of the old creek bed The trees stand gaunt like ghosts on the plain Eight long years and still no rain He lifts his eyes to the trees on the rise to a lonely white cross where his dear wife lies Two months ago she left his side And every day since the old mans cried. Now he stands out there on that sun cracked ground and with pain in his heart he looks around. He scans the road for his long gone son and he slowly turns the barrel of the loaded gun A bus pulls in at the boundary gate the son is home, just a little too late. and there ‘neath the trees that stand on the rise two white crosses point to the sky A heart broken son with tears in his eyes talks to crosses up there on the rise. He pleads for forgiveness of this long gone son and feels the remorse of the wayward one. In the sky overhead, storm clouds boil that will bring relief to the sun parched soil and life will return to this old man’s land green and gold, the vision grand But the old man’s spirit is here in the ground you can hear him on the wind, in the night bird’s sounds his heart is soil that’s turned by the plough and his tears are the rain that’s falling now. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 145 [topic] => 48 [informant] => Pyrofella [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
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