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Array
(
[sid] => 165423
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Waiting.
[time] => 2011-03-23 03:02:46
[hometext] => As some of you know my older brother died three weeks ago. On Friday last my mother passed away. We think she couldn't cope with his loss. This is a poem about the waiting of news, a hard thing to write, but true just the same.
[bodytext] => As the dawn rises Over the cloudy vista of my mind. I sit on this lonely hillside clasping a phone Waiting for news of your demise. One hundred and fifty miles seperate you In your hospital bed From me on this remote Welsh hill. And as the day breaks, draining the valley of darkness, My mind turns to yesteryear and the joy that never was, And even now, sat here in the fluting breese, I can feel the cold hard touch of your disapproval. And as the morning slowly matures I can picture you in that sterile hospital room, Can hear the bleeping of a monitor, The gentle hum of an oxygen machine And I imagine your face, lips stretched into a grimace That even death's dark mask cannot disguise. I stand up and hear bird song, the murmur of the breeze, The laughter of the frolicking water, the sound of the phone. And with the bleeping of the phone comes the news And I know that the years have swallowed your pride. A shadow passes over the low sun And your heart is still at last. [comments] => 5 [counter] => 188 [topic] => 23 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => FamilyPoems )
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