Gone
Gone
Went away one day
Hid
On the moors
Where every swell and dip
Looks like every other
Counted to ten
Over and over
And over again
They looked in ditches
In the bleak mist
Of northern hills
Black shadowed coppers
Bobbies with grim features
That would stay with them
A lifetime
My mother cried
Never stopped looking
Died
Buried with my
Wire rimmed glasses
I am still in nature
Where hidden
Out of sight
While the bad man
Who put me here
Now burns in hell
He will be remembered
As a monster
But I will
Never be forgotten
Cold now
But one day
You’ll get warmer
And find me
If you keep looking
Until then I’ll count to ten
Over and over
And over and over
And over and over
Again…
raypool
Thu 18th May 2017 21:28
A fine poem to a horrendous crime Ian, and it reminds me of the long arm of the law and how a justice prevails in time. In a sense the loneliness of moorland adds a chill to the poem and the silent prayer from the unseen heart of the victim. We will always live in hope I think.
Ray