Rise and Fall

It has begun: that which you fear. The end is never

Abrupt. Like a story, it begins, progresses

in the middle, peaks into climax,

And then slowly

Ends.

I. Beginning

Waiting amongst nervous pacers, and those whose knees

Are too weak for standing. Newspapers provide no comfort

Like the embrace of cold white walls. The TV is out of place,

Provides only noise to break the silence, entertaining only

The unaffected nurses in passing. Coffee turns

Cold, between trembling hands.

Furrowed eyebrows, eyes on the ground. The faces

Of early lament and waiting. Light, careful footsteps

treading back and forth,

Then back again.

II. Middle

You once confessed fear, of age and all

That comes with it. To witness none of the bellows of your youngest’

First born. To be forgotten like the image of a portrait

That fades away through time.

Sadness hangs beneath tired eyes, and a set of luggage

From sleepless nights. End breeds new beginnings.

But they are endings nonetheless.

III. Climax

No one is groomed for terrible news.

But there is no good one here. One by one,

Heads lift to receive it, word per word, when there is no need.

Except to signal tears. Except to confirm what the cold white walls

Already knew. Except to send the minute fires of blind hopes to ashes.

IV. End

Nothing but silence and sounds of heavy breathing. The faces of grief:

calm and subdued. The grave says Daughter, mother

and lelang. Will always be remembered. Like the image in a portrait,

That hangs on a museum. Beguiling and venerated.

But when night time comes, the spectators walk

One by one.

To leave the dead alone.

Surprised I only posted this now. This was part of my thesis and in no way out of experience. Following the theme of memory/nostalgia, I guess this treads the idea of how we remember our dead loved ones. Of course, like any poem, it is open to any reading, but this pretty much is as good as it gets.