Glory’s End

By brian francis

To war I rode a speckled mare
With spear and bow
With tack and ale
To war I went and left my bride
To never again, laugh by her side

The fight was long beneath the sun
With ebb and flow
With cheer and mourn
The clash of steel rang in the air
joy and mourn were married there

Upon the field I found life’s end
My last thought her face
My breath her name
And there my life did pass away
Into darkness from the light of day


Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Zombie

By brian francis

Here I stand beside your grave,
unwilling to release you still.
Remembering you, hauntingly clear,
smelling you, and feeling you close.
The chill of fall is upon me, damp
and cold, are these lonely nights

I find myself tending our memories,
tending them like a garden;
nurturing them with my tears.
Listless and sorrow-filled
I wonder through yesteryear,
cherishing what I had once been:
whole, happy, united with you

Now here alone in the drizzle
I stand beside your grave.
Blinded with grief, longing release,
wanting to follow you,
to find where you are hiding-
to embrace you just one more time.


Copyright © 2021 brian francis

In Opposition


By brian francis

People scream in rage and anger
claiming the right to defend their ways
with hatred as their loudest banter
they march and scream in a craze

Others stand to repel the onslaught
to shine a light on horror’s salute
they rise in waves of fury and conviction
rejecting the message of the jack boot

As words of anger and opposition
scream back and forth across the line
threats of angry violent intentions
swim and dance among the brine

The back and forth increase the tenor
the tempest whirling strains its chain
with violence being the final measure
rage released cries for pain

meted- out with joyous pleasure
Laughing while it does its work
Horror, moves among the people
as Death takes souls with a jerk

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Headstone

By brian francis

I always bring a knife when I visit you
To trim away the errant strands of grass
Your name on the stone inspires memories
Standing over a hole, holding your hand
Your father, oh God, he was my best friend
In a box lowered into that gaping hole
It was hard to turn and leave him there
In fact, I remember you dragging me away
At least I had you then to be my support
Though sorrow and mourning stole a year away

I pray to God for you when I kneel in this place
To honor your deep respect and strong sure faith
I ask his will be done as you once taught me to
I seek out that warming comfort we call grace
When I stood at that hole — the one we left you in
I remember in tears the sorrow that burdened me
I remember the fear and anger at unsaid words
The rudderless abandon as my soul set adrift
Realizing that I’d never have your hand again
I reached within to that strength that was your gift

Copyright © 2020 Brian Francis

Together in Spirit

by brian francis 

Time has passed since you’ve gone
Life just isn’t the same.
I sit alone to watch the dawn,
yet, your memories remain.

The path now seems more uphill,
the pace now slowed to a walk.
Your face, your touch I remember still.
Oh, just to hear you talk.

My time has come to walk alone
Yet, your presence I still feel.
In the memories of life we’ve sown
Our love is still so real.


Copyright ©2020 brian francis 

The Mausoleum

By brian francis

The gravel grinds as you walk the path
following the ankle high picket fencing.
The path delineated clearly – straight.
the grass groomed to perfection,
with little warnings. to stay off.
planted beyond the picket barrier.
Reading the words and remembering
what was said about the other side
Woody said, “it didn’t say nothin’ ”
now that’s the side for you and me.

The building is cold, monolithic, quiet,
like a temple of old it is solid built.
Even soft soles echo walking the isles,
my boots seem to clamor with every step.
But no one complains their sleep is eternal.
Candles burning by a cubby like around a saint
someone’s enduring devotion on display.
I look to see if tears have stained the floor
as I stroll deeper into the temple of loss
finally finding the nook and the panel.

Staring at the name, I blur and place my hand on it.
The cold raised letters burn into my soul,
sorrow fills my being, and I mourn, I cry.
Here in this place for eternity; to wait.
Three generations and yet we mourn
when will the visits end, the nook grow dusty-
the tears stop flowing for a soul so long lost.
The walk away is somehow refreshing
carrying away “life” a gift, all the more precious.
The grass caresses my steps as I leave.


Copyright ©2020 brian francis