On a dark, rainy morning
while snug in my bed,
I awoke to a bugle
like a whisper on wind
It was more like a song
that gets stuck in your head
That haunting lone melody
to honor the dead
At first, I felt certain
a soldier had died…
A funeral dirge
for my father, it was
A flag for my mother,
a rose for a glove
Prayers flying high
on the wings of a dove

My heart felt so heavy,
the weight of dead years
A dread sense of mourning
for lost souls departed
The sound brought confusion
to my itching ears
A question of fate
or a problem I started?
Then I felt a cold hand
at the nape of my neck,
For the devil is vicious,
he comes for the throat
As demise will surprise us
for life, we neglect,
With lines full of misery,
like the old poets wrote

Now, a sickening grip
in the pit of my gut
Could it be last night’s wine?
Something stale on my plate?
More of gravy than grave,
more of weather than what
Food for thought in my mind,
loss for lies that I ate?
But enough of this blathering,
I rose from my bed
Unsteady, uncertain,
of what I might find
An unfinished dream?
A trick of the mind?
A sight for sore eyes
When it’s best to be blind

I followed the sound
to my back door and then,
Swallowed my fear
stepping into the rain
My mindset was black
like the ink from my pen
As the music continued
its dirge-like refrain
Then, the bugle went silent,
a scene void of sound
You must wonder now
just what did I see?
A crowd of strange people,
and a hole in the ground,
A coven of faces,
all staring at me

I slowly moved forward
and they parted a path,
A priest was now brandishing
brimstone and blame
He pointed to heaven
with words of great wrath,
A maniacal eulogy
infused with my name
At first, I was shocked
by the depth of the drama,
I laughed till I cried
like a cat in a well
Then, found myself speechless
in my plaid Pajamas,
Pushed by some devil,
into darkness, I fell

Now flat on my back,
I looked up to the sky
Fistfuls of dirt
and red roses did fall
Murmuring voices
through clouds full of eyes
My time had arrived
with a clarion call
We are gathered together
to pay our respect
To a man who cared little
for life while he lived
It’s sad how we only
get what we reflect
How love is contingent
on how much we give

Then, I opened my mouth
with no sound to be heard
My life was now circling
like mud down a drain
The priest looking down
with an ominous word
Form dust you were formed,
in dust you’ll remain
Now, my chest was compressed
to the point I couldn’t breathe,
Paralysis ceased,
waking up with a scream
Then, I cried for my father,
for the lovers I grieved,
For the hearts I had broken
and for what could have been

For the dead and the dying
and the light I denied
For the loss that I loved
and the pain I still hide
For the son who left home,
to a world of pretend
Who listened to no one
and lived in his head
Who curses the day
of his sad childhood’s end
And celebrates silence
and things never said
Is there more to this story?
It’s anyone’s guess
Seems our dreams reveal things
much too hard to confess

Like the lies that we bury,
like the truth we may find
Like a song that still haunts you,
like ghosts in your mind
Like the tables that turn,
or the paths that we choose
Or the thoughts that we plant
with our careless abuse
Or the time that we waste
chasing idols of fame
Or the people we hurt
while we’re making a name
It’s the same kind of story,
in a similar voice
We are slaves to decisions…
consequences of choice.

TM DiSarro

©2025 TM DiSarro/ MindScapes Publishing

From: THE MEMORY OF RAIN