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’
paulhp poetry 