Ph: Death: Mourning In My Arms Poem by Brian Johnston

Really, only five years have past
Since your son’s abandoned car was found,
No note,
Along side sea cliffs
North of Santa Cruz,
After failing with pills,
Too many times.
No body either,
Though at times I prayed for that.
Wincing now myself at your pain
As you hand beggars at streetlights
A few dollars, as you pray, heart broken,
Some empathetic soul is doing the same
For your son, should he still be alive,
Watching your head turn wistfully to search the face
Of distant beggars on the wrong side of the street,
Both of us feeling in our hearts that he is gone.

Rested, before dawn breaks,
I close the distance night has sanctioned,
Move closer,
Take you in my arms
Feel tension release
As sleep finds its meter,
Breath its rhyme.
The body’s warmth
Giving dreams new assurance.
The sweet sound of your sleeping
Now informs my answered prayer
Deft moves that fluff me into compliance
Help me to trust some needs at least are met,
My own sleep, pulls on my sleeve like a child,
As watchful still, I succumb to warmth of your heart,
That even in its half-full, depleted state,
Still has the power to make my sun rise.