That Day

by Edmond Kett

Hello everyone. This is what I wrote after Matthew's funeral.
Edmond, Matthew's dada

The wind blows cold and the clouds
are thick and dark and they are near.
The ground is forgiving and wet
and we have fear.
Graceful it is not as we stand
a small legion,
a few words spoken.
Now the end is near. The end ?

But no, for our end has only just begun,
as now we must not live but endure.
If it is to live then it is to
live as a shell who has lost the comfort of waves
and is screaming silently on the sand.

Alone, afraid and at the mercy of
Life while the world obliviously spins around us .
And they all go on without the days that we do.
The minutes are days stuffed with defeat and wounds
that fester and mimic and want us away.

So carry this pain and hole in your heart.
Endure the ravages of any reason for life.
Your task is here and cannot retreat
your task is for Matthew.