Today is the 19th of January 2006, the third anniversary of Mum's passing and this is a little poem dedicated to her. We all miss her, but each year gets easier:
You were just a little girl
Sitting on the beach,
With a pen and scraps of paper;
While a storm raged on.
You could have run away,
Sought safer ground,
But you wanted to capture the fierce beauty
That lay within the winds.
Sand blasted your face,
Stinging your eyes; grit in your teeth,
But the words kept coming,
Your hand kept moving
And you stayed to catch them all.
All around you waves crashed off rocks,
Hurricane strength winds lifted sand-banks,
Changing your surroundings.
You clung to the edge of your towel,
Grasping to something familiar.
The tides rose higher and higher,
The waves crashed closer and closer:
Caught between the Moon and the Earth
In their giant game of tug-o’-war.
It was too late for anyone to save you;
No lifeguard on duty, nobody watching.
Swept away in a deafening roar
By an awesome natural force.
Your pen, clutched by a lifeless hand,
But the scraps of paper blew inland.
The ink was running, wet from sea-water and tears,
But the words, the beautiful words, could still be read:
You suffered, gave yourself as a poetic sacrifice,
So we could know the beauty that lay within a storm.
1 comment:
A beautiful and pictureful poem.
I love the words, the meanings, the rhythm. And the truth in it.
You are a poet yourself.
Hannie Rouweler
(a good friend of Noelle Vial, from the Netherlands living in Belgium, who liked/loved her a lot)
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