A Place Where He Speaks

By Thomas Caterer

How quickly the days became months and then years
My continued crisis a vile tribute to my base fears
In the immediacy of your premature death
I was confined by piteous concerns of ego
In my dull stomach a regret stirred, numbed by tears

In the final few months as we watched you decay, I played the mother
Preparing your meals, only for them to be abandoned, one after another
You shared the tales of your trips, speaking to gods in a sea of colour and light
An innate need to dispel fright, to accept death, you’d lost a friend too
We discussed the mutual fear in the dead of night, of the dark that will smother

I can only hope you found peace after your last breath
I wish that we could hug now and talk of death
As we did in dreary, rain-sodden nights in feckless England
I know we were both troubled by the silence of God
I hope you found a place where he speaks…