When the last whimper of defeat exhales
The final blow that lands, succeeds
The last rejoinder goes unanswered
You will hear that sound
.
When the last man standing, falls
The last woman's love fails
The last child's epiphyses close
You will hear that sound
.
When the pain of the past has passed
Agony locked up, shut in fast
Suffering forgotten, no longer relevant
You will hear that sound
.
That sound in arrears, erstwhile, spread out red
Doppler'd low in the frequency of retreat
Still, listen to the past — it's loud still
And comes, still, it does, for me
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. Hippocampus, behave!
Make me rich! https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
My substrack at https://substack.com/@drdileo
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Comments (3)
I've always been a little troubled when people say, "He's in a better place now," or "Her suffering is over," when someone dies. Does pain in the past no longer count? If we are immortal beings, albeit confined in these cross-sections of time we call life (as we know it), is pain that's over no longer relevant? Where did it go? Does the pain that's passed no longer matter? It opens a can of worms for true existentialism. And it confuses me a great deal!
Whoaaa, this was so deep and relatable! The past comes for me too!
Good poem, Gerard.