The Meadow - Summer 1978 Poem by Neil Graham Marsden

To a place where your face
last reflected,
this so bright burning light
in my heart.

To a day far away
resurrected,
to re-taste in great haste
the restart.

Now no more like before
will hearts falter,
for this day in its way
Is the last.

Where the wind beats your sins
whilst they alter,
yesterday locked away
in the past.

So once more I explore
the beginning,
undeterred I returned,
to the fore.

There to cope with no hope
never winning,
in a race I'd disgraced
long before.

Once I'd found in hard ground
your impression,
where the tear in the air
waved your smell.

It then told the dark hole
of depression,
to sit tight whilst the night
bode us well.

In that hour of true power
I'd un-weathered,
the wall where we would fall
way back days.

Where our bikes and dislikes
were still tethered,
where the band in the stand
Still plays.

But you went fully spent
without turning;
without doubt you walked out
of the game.

Leaving fire and desire
slowly burning,
where the mood and fine food
aren't the same.

From my hand so unplanned
you retreated,
out of view to the blue
you retired.

The grieving and feeling
so defeated,
all played down with a frown
you're expired.

So each day in this way
you're remembered,
as though you didn't go
there that day.

When the truth of your youth
is dismembered,
where I try not to cry
you away.

So I kneel just to feel
at the meadow,
I still pound out the sound
of your name.

Still I shout crying out
of the shadow,
wishing all could recall
just the same.