Celestial
Haven
So
many years hence, I recall
My
first shy ventures
Up
these endless stairs
And
the echoes of our footsteps
As
we climbed.
“Does
he live in the sky?” I wondered,
Breathing
hard, unable to speak,
While
he ascended so easily.
In
time, it became familiar:
A
safe haven above the noise of the city
And
the clatter of my life.
Grandfather
clocks solemnly ticking,
Candlelight,
and fine brew
Served
by a generous hand,
And
once, on a magical winter’s night,
The
Lark Ascending:
Sweet
perfection of Vaughan Williams
On
the stereo at midnight.
Such
were the finest of times with my friend.
As
I sit in this space by day,
Bare
walls before me,
Empty
rooms and book shelves,
And
the stamp of his presence being carried away,
Piece
by piece, and box by box,
I
remember those nights,
And
deep in my heart, I long for just one more.
He
may be going from this place,
But
he, himself, still lives and breathes
And
looks to the future.
All
will be well with my friend in time:
“the
ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away.”
But
nothing can strip the memories
Of
those sacred nights from me:
Not
the candles, nor the music,
Nor
the drink, nor the talk,
Nor
the image of my beloved friend,
A
precious diamond glittering
In
his setting of finest gold.
C.P.
Warner
11
September 2014
