Wherever you roam there is pain.
You fight demons with demons
only to end up consumed
by their crossfire.

How can you allow pain
to be your constant companion?
It fills your pockets until
you sink beneath the weight,
and pain is all around.

The master is calling you home,
struggling son. May is mid-flight
and the bridal wreath is heavy with blooms
as the master prepares a feast.
Your feet are lead and your eyes
are clay as you journey on,
and blood is all around.

But you are already gone home now
and the slant of the sun setting in spring
reminds me of you in its merciless beauty.
I tear at the creeping mint to find
the mossy rocks you laid long ago
around our tiny pumpkin cottage
and love is all around.

Claire Juno, © 2018