Saturday, April 12, 2014

Jeremiah B

His philosophical arguments
no longer allow me any new hypotheses,
he is fixed in a pastiche of memories and
returning images, sparked randomly
from the flint walls that surround.
A little more understanding, possibly,
though now I am the age he was,
 the Elder he will always be.

His first passing was sad but accepted, 
his final passing, through me now looms, 
and will largely go unnoticed;
a world extinguished
 by the death of a memory.

Neither monument, nor tombstone, nor plaque
can contain his spirit, and
just a few blackened words,
— Hiroshima moment of passing —
are left behind, as a burnt after-image,
on this page.
                                                                                           ©Copyright Niall OConnor 2014

1 comment:

  1. an unmarked grave
    we all will be forgotten
    the good we have done will remain
    our unremembered lives
    no less worthwhile


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