The Moon Rises…

Poetry by George Freek

A POEM OF MOURNING 
(After Su Tung Po)

The moon rises without pity.
It rises indifferently. 
When I’m no longer here,
it will rise again,
for billions of years
oblivious to human fears.
A dead leaf,
that shivers violently,
then falls so quietly, 
means nothing to me.
You are dead. Your ashes
are in the ground,
and I’m now alone.
Nothing more can be said.


IN MEMORIAM 
(After Mei Yao Chen)

As the night begins,
a dismal line of people crawls
in slow procession
along the darkening street.
Stars throb like blue guitars
playing somber hymns
in other worldly rhythms.
I draw my shades.
I turn off my light.
As darkness approaches,
I have only this to write.
It is getting very late.
A distant moon,
barely shining
is a silent reminder of our fate.

George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.

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