Prelude
The fall of 1995 was a time of much introspection. Many walks on the beach to chat with gulls and horseshoe crabs. Everytime I see the horseshoes I am reminded of prehistoric things. Very old things have a mystery and power that is remote and difficult to grasp. Our own lives are so fragile and quick. I was thinking about these things and about a close friend who had just lost his wife after many years of joyous union. His pain was so intense and every day millions of people all over the world feel this same heartache. It was on one of my beach walkabouts this poem occurred to me. Generally speaking my poems come to me intact and all at once. It is as though I can see a script in my mind's eye.
The Gray Time
Gray fall days are the worst
for twisted minds
and souls that feel like
broken glass on bluecold
marble floors
A desperate reach for hope
hovering dimly
as though trapped
in the morning sea fog
The cruel singsong drones
a coalblacknightsin
chorus
chanting the plain note
death is soft
death is soft
and warm
and painless
death is a kind friend
and so enticing
death is soft
death is soft
Gray fall days are the worst
for broken hearts
and minds so hard to heal
Come quickly child !
Give up your torment unto me
for my troubles are nothing
and my works are many
And I shall know you
with love and comfort
Gareth Crispell (c) September 1995