My Turn by John Lysaght

Today’s cleansing mist unveils, ascending
As I watch a dark caravan depart
Leaving me here, alone—
Where to visit my parents
In this tranquil neighborhood,
An ancestral park of remembrance,
Beneath a chiming steeple.
Fatefully alone,
I wait, eerily in quiet—
Yet, curiously, not afraid—
Not lonely.
A geometric soulscape beside reverent roads,
Tireless scalloped stones join masoned family vaults.
These parallel rows at attention,
Comfort me.
Holy roods, celtic and calvary,
Protect me.
The moon’s milkwhite peacefulness descends
Changing the day into tomorrow.
This tender glow brings serenity and enlightenment.
Yesterday, I came here to visit my mother and father,
But, now, I must stay,
It’s my turn.

Tonight, my sleep final,
I look skyward;
A night songstress sings my repose
As my lunar chaperone readies to guide me, hereafter.
With hands diamond-clapsed in prayer,
I say good night—
Good night and good-bye to you.
It’s my turn.



2 thoughts on “My Turn by John Lysaght

  1. Pingback: The Greenwich Village Literary Review Fall 2014, Vol. I, No. 2 | The Greenwich Village Literary Review

  2. 10derm10

    This is a well written existential pondering that turns a trip into a graveyard into an almost psychedelic spiritual adventure that has the speaker traverse scientific ‘geometric soulscapes’ and archaic ‘holy roods, celtic’ symbolism to really raise some important questions about life, death and that nature of time and space as well I found. All of this heavy duty philosophy is wrapped up in some exquisitely tranquil description, that takes me to this moment of death.



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