Thursday, 2 August 2012

Dark Days: a Reflection on Our Times


These days the mornings grow darker and darker,
and I fear they’re growing harder too,
though the sun may sometimes consent to shine
and the small birds sing Te Deums in the trees;
still, the gathering clouds are deeper than doubt,
and the shadows cast are chillier and longer;
while the earth grumbles and stirs awake
as though some sleeping Titan quakes.

Perhaps I am old and disposed to sadness
since old age is the season for weeping;
a butterfly but crosses my path
and my heart will break in my boots;
but I think instead it is something else,
something like a loss of fellow feeling
when the tribe no longer will carry its sick
but leaves them by the wayside to die.

© Abigail Wyatt

Disability tests 'sending sick and disabled back to work'

Abigail is one of the three founding members of the Red River Poets. The latter will be appearing at the Heartlands Project in Cornwall, 29th September, as part of 100 Thousand Poets for Change.

4 comments:

  1. A terribly sad but beautiful poem. But I'm not sure about old age being the time for weeping.I hardly ever cry these days; when I was a teenager I wept buckets.

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  2. Thank you, Rinkly Rimes. It has proven to be the other way about for me. As a girl I had to keep inside much sorrow and much anger. These days,though, I find myself crying all the time. Better out than in, as they say.

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  3. A beautiful heartfelt poem Abigail and thank you for it.

    I tend to agree that old age is a time for reflection of things past, the good and the bad and indeed you are correct in that when "the tribe no longer will carry its sick..." it is a time for much weeping.

    Anna :o]

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  4. Thank you, hyperCRYPTICal. My partner is a retired general and psychiatric nurse who is now working for a care agency. This means that we are well placed to see the true nature of 'care' as it operates today. It makes us sad; it makes us fearful. It makes us angry too.

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