by Gerald T. Ching
Somewhere there is a crying child
hungry for the attention of its mother, longing
for a breast to suckle on. Ricocheting
from corner to corner
the cries reverberate off bare walls.
Between these gut wrenching sobs
the mother’s reassuring soul sails in on a cool breeze
helping to ease the hollowness of insecurity
as her name gets etched onto the naked walls of a young heart.
In the coming days, travelling through ethereal fields
the soul of each beloved loved one
finds its place on this wall of security –
lessening the ache.
As the days pass into months
and then years, the walls of this heart grow with the child.
Names upon names are written daily, some
tarnish instantaneously, while others linger
for years – aging within the soul. Solid
in the many passing years
are the first names that built this foundation.
Written on the walls of my heart
are the names of all the wandering souls
that have graced my own life. Brushing away
at the tarnish of ages past reveals
the older souls that have past on into sweet oblivion,
their essence still lingering.
Left in the wake of this awakening,
a hollowness is revealed. Before my eyes
the younger years of my life flash in revelation
grounding me in my hour of desperation
grasping at my last lifeline –