the carrying

the long grey box is shouldered 
from the Architect’s door
a sombre leaden march
filled with the silenced memories 
we like to keep

borne with the sadness of what is lost
and for those that witness
what inevitably will come
when we turn our back to the wind
one last time

‘goodbye dear friend’ they say
aging limbs and souls entwined 
a plea of longing in watery eyes
with glimpses of youth and lost paths
‘you’ll be hurried no more’

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