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Writer's pictureAllen Schwartz

The Season of Tears

The season of tears,

As time whittles away the years.

Never thinking of what it does.

17 years in a world of fears,

And a life that never was.


When I Iook back at what’s between us,

The gap is like a universe,

Ever-expanding into infinity.


A decade and a half,

Plus two years more.

With blurry eyes,

And a heart still sore.


And when I remember that night,

It seems foggy, like a dream.

Or some far off illusion.


And there it stays,

As some disconnected part of my psyche.

Jumbling itself into action every so often,

To remind me of what truly happened.


The truth is still there,

The dusty picture frames,

The flowers on the turf,

And the great black graves.


So yes, I still remember that day,

And the bitter winds blowing into Christmas.

I remember the flashing candy cane lights,

And the jack frost EMT’s as they whisked you away.


I remember too the sounds of patter on the hallways,

And the little knocks on doors.

I remember that face,

And the voice that still was forming.

I believe it was yours.


Yes. I remember that day,

Maybe too well.


I even recall the hymn they sung,

And also the icy hands of death.

That preyed on the young,

And took a child’s breath.

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