MPB (7 Years on)


MPB (7 Years on)

I had no words back then,
only sounds.
Deep groans to my dad, twisted down a phone line
Knotted-up with unfathomable rage.

I had no strength back then,
just flesh dumped on a living room floor.
Numb.
Grief-stricken...dumb!

I had no peace back then.
Regrets.
Words said!
Unsaid!

A foreign field has held in its primal soil,
my warrior*.
My conflicted heart has kept its vigil,
anxiously straining to recognise that voice
tell that ludicrous story,
that tall tail,
that opinion,
that rant.

I have such peace today.
Memories.
Legacies left.
Beloved.

I have such strength today.
My champion,
my thorn,
my brother.

I no longer need the words.
I look within
a deep repository
of being loved by him. 


*My brother is buried near hills called 'The sleeping warrior' in the Rift Valley.



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