Mornings come and go
Evil moves too slow
Death acts as an undertow
Love seems a frantic blow

The words are present here
When I wear slippers full of fear
And tread downstairs to the kitchen’s delight
To harvest the food placed in my sight

Glacé moons frost the window, and silence is rare
Crystalline inflections panel the walls and sounds are near
The footsteps in the distance challenge me
Secret shadows uncover as I see

Slippers no longer live in fear
But erase the wound like a tear
The shadow forms an image of my Dad
I wish he knew that I was sad


Poem © Mark Pirie 2014