Paul Steffan Jones 1st


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By: Paul Steffan Jones AKA
Posted in: Poetry

Eyes closed to the sound 

of a breeze combing fir trees

reminds him of the curtain border 

of that cemetery 

hypnotic historic 

ultimately soporific 

a misspelt dedication 

next to where he left his parents

his grandparents 

the dear ones snug in the clay

returned to the earth

on the edge of that village

that gave him his scars

the shed tears

they all left only to come back

the sadness not interred

not boxed

but marks on their existence 

decades of indentations 

runes they couldn’t decipher 

though fingertips unthinkingly 

traced them in the quieter seconds

between the pressures

a new face gets a new face

that he will learn to wear with pride

his split cheek beneath a bonnet in a pram

a spider’s web of darning in skin

a stitch in time that saved him 

from being bled dry like a wounded bird

in a winter whiteness impasse

and quietened his parents’ guilt

that boy from Cwmcou

with its free flowing sparkle Ceri

a branch to the Teifi tree of life

a tributary sacrifice 

that took the boy from Cwmcou

but not Cwmcou from the boy

carry me away 

carry me away 

bring me home

I want to go home