Cynthia Poem by John Duffy

The heavy rain seemed to fall like a river, from a dreadful grey sky.

On that painful of all days.

If I remember, in the month of May.

Great slow-moving clouds, hung their blue heads in silence.

As they too seemed to whisper and pray.

The scene was like a surreal script, from a black and white movie.

Set somewhere on a cold murky day, we commonly call Tuesday.

I can still see the red-haired priest.

Standing proud and dressed all in black.

Wearing silver-rimmed glasses.

Uttering repetitive words,
he obviously knew by heart.

A once-majestic craft,
he chose to now just meander through it.

With undertones of a false repetitive love, that will never last or fool one of two people, or those visiting church.

To attend one of his masses.

The lightning strikes began at three.

Their crazy power and raw intensity, I can still emotionally feel.

Oh, how we all
jumped, when it struck and split, that big old oak
tree.

The priest's words suddenly appeared more contrite.

We all laughed out aloud saying, I bet he doesn't sleep too well tonight.

It looked as if
you heard us, from high up above.

For the rain and lightning stopped, and the grey clouds parted like red velvety stage curtains.

To reveal the smiling hot sun.

We all smiled,
And said, She was always a wild one.

Soaking wet but now elated, the priest's now more convincingly
spoken words.

Just appeared to be a distant echo, in the wet background.

When we all placed our heartfelt flowers on your grave.

Well, my only love,
That was ten long years ago.

I've been coming here,
every day you know.

Well heck, you're probably here with me now.

Smiling, and listening at all you see.

Don't worry my love, there's no-one else I'd rather visit.

No place I'd rather go.

You were the most beautiful person, I've ever seen with these eyes.

The only person I truly loved, who always made me smile.

My own piece of a living heaven.
My bountiful joy.

I may miss you in
The physical sense, my love.

But in my mind.

Memories
which still flourish, within lands of the perfect past tense.

Still holds me firmly together as my strength, and act as the last line of my defence.

Soon we'll be together again.

Smiling and joking, like way back when.

Our twin stars shall illuminate the darkest of skies.

Our love shall hold us, in silvery arms of
rapturous surreptitious joy.

For together.
We shall ignite all the ensuing nights, like Prince Paris and Helen of Troy.

Well, it's after eight
and I must go.

I'll be back tomorrow though.

To see you again,
my beautiful date.

Sleep well my love,
until I return.

I've brought you some red roses, and a picture of me to keep you company.

They may help you to dream of me, and to rest more comfortably.

Until tomorrow my love, when I return.

Keep guiding and watching over me, and never leave me unaccompanied.

Good night.

Copyright John Duffy