Fleeting

A Tuesday like the last,
sauntering not jogging
after peddle-bikes with hope
dangling from a green stick.
Forever it stretches in the distance,
far from my grasp, yet always flickering,
refusing to merge with the night.

A cycle repeated, the same street
never forged in memory.
Despair pooling and festering
like weeds, fungus, and disease.
Feet blistered with miles forgotten.
The blinding glimmers and aspirations
that leave a view forever unpainted,
wasting in thick blue light.

But all wells run dry
and all memories retire.
Look here, look now,
travel the coast with your gaze.
Breathe the yellow and amber
scorching the waning sky.
All is reset by the morning.

How do I mourn the living?

It’s not your body or flesh that has decayed,
It’s my ability to stand next to you.
It’s the conversations weighted in your favour,
a son who carries his father.

But how do you mourn
a heart that beats twenty miles away?
Do I throw dried petals to the earth,
clinging only to the good?
Do I walk across the sand
where my footprints
once lived within yours
and drown in the tainted memories?

Whatever it takes,
I have to mourn you,
not because you can’t change,
but because you won’t.
I have to grieve while you live,
accepting that one day
the guilt will fill every ounce of my being,
when I have to mourn you for real.

Benjamin Parker is a poet based in North Wales with works published in publications such as ‘The Uncoiled’, ‘Free Verse Revolution’, and ‘Nawr Mag’. Benjamin graduated with First-Class Honours in English Literature and Creative Writing at the Open University and is now studying an MA in English Literature.