Dear Son, Dead Son MAG

December 10, 2013
By Madman BRONZE, Weston, Massachusetts
Madman BRONZE, Weston, Massachusetts
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Dear son, dead son, how lie you so still?
What words can I say to call you away out from under this hill?
Come back to your peaches, come back
to your bees
Come back to your harvest and tend to
your trees.
Remember the fields, the timber, the earth,
The dew in the morning the glow of your hearth – no?
No sudden, miraculous breath?
Dear son, dead son, how lie you so still?
What prayers can I pray to get you away
out from under this hill?
Please God, oh God, he's all that I need
Please God, oh God, send him back to me!
Release the darkness that stole him in,
That endless unknown that pulled him within.
But wait – oh no, I am here, too.
I am here too, 'tis true.
My dear and dead son, hello.
For I am here too, 'tis true.

The author's comments:
I read Burial at Thebes in English class this year. There was one line, "Dear son, dead son" that really struck me; this poem was written by the next day.

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This article has 1 comment.

Heidi said...
on Dec. 16 2013 at 8:31 am
The haunting yearning of the parent voice is terrible to read.  Congratulations Talia on catching the despair of the parents of all the boys who died in the great wars.  It is a pleasure to read your poem over and over.


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