Second Fall From Grace

A priest was strolling in a glorious
Garden next to a church cemetery.
Deep into daily prayers his serious
Reflection had ceased funereally.
From behind a blackberry bush a man
In agonizing pain pled for his help.
Bloodied, near death he desperately scanned
This holy face and said, “you and me dwelt
In the same house for many, many years
Together. Please tend to my wounds. I must
Not die else many things will disappear
With me.” Sir! You think you know me I trust
But I don’t recognize you, in good faith.
“That’s of no consequence, we are soul mates.”

Sir, I do not understand. What’s your name?
“First, look into my eyes, what do you see? ”
The priest peered into them. I see ill fame
“Correct! What else? ” To a higher degree
I see treachery, deceit and falsehood

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poem by Albert Ahearn
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Swansong

“Look! The aging poet sleepwalks again.”
“Sir, should we wake him from his nightly tour? ”
“No! God no! His heart could not stand the strain.”
“He’s heading for the open study door.
His ambulant steps on the floorboards creak
With every step along the corridor.”
“Listen! The bard is beginning to speak.
Let’s heed his words, step softly on the floor.”

“Where do you lead me
Erato? Oh! The study
What for may I ask? ”

He sits at his desk with his pen in hand
Writing vigorously on a tablet
Almost as if it were by some command.
His outline cast a dreamy silhouette
On the study wall caused by the moonbeam
Shinning through a curtained opened window.
“He writes with eyes closed in his dream”

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poem by Albert Ahearn
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Walking through time

This morning I went on my daily stroll.
Only this time it was quite different:
I permitted my mind to take control
How much I knew not or to what extent.
It took me on a tour of memories.
I see a boy walking in this same place.
He hears a call, “Al...bee! ” The reverie
Had roused in him his mother’s lovely face.
He knew the purpose of her tireless call
It was almost noontime, its time to eat.
He arrived home late that day I recall
And consequently took a little heat.
She said, “Albee, it’s rude to be tardy
‘I’m Sorry’ does not ease severity.”
Just as I was about to get a smack
My mind propelled me into the future
Same boy, a bit older. As I think back
I was always getting slapped, that I’m sure.
I couldn’t understand, I'd done no wrong.
If angels roamed earth, you’re looking at one.

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poem by Albert Ahearn
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