Bitter Sunday

“There was a man once
Who wrote for me”
You'll say
On some bitter Sunday far off
Reminiscing in a silver light
Perhaps to no-one in particular
Watching rain on cold steamed glass
paint shifting pictures
with every pass.

What will you think
with time and wisdom?
Content that someone cared to try,
or wistful of the memory
where one man carried into view
each paltry comrade he could muster
to forge a monument writ large for you?

And will you still be unaware,
of what you are
cursed by some wayward grace
that makes you ever destined to deny
and no words will turn you to see
though it's as clear and vast
and beautiful
as sky?

I knew you before we met
And I'll still know you,
On that bitter Sunday far off.