Are You Still There?

Can you remember when you died?
And how old you were?
Perhaps you were
Only two,
And the climate was bad
In your parents hearts.
Or did you reach to ten,
Maybe even thirteen
Before you felt the
Touch that kills
The eagerness
For life within you.

I think I was just born
When it began.
When the passion,
And the magic keyboard
Of wonderful response
Was locked up.
What was it killed you?
Was no one there
Who met you,
Longing to longing,
Skin to skin,
With open mouthed
Wonder in their eyes?

Did you get killed
Slowly – or of a sudden?
Did the wound that
Took your life away
Get opened frequently
Before you died?
Or was it done
So carefully that
Even now,
You do not know
That you are dead?

I can see you though,
Walking the streets
Without the light
Of feeling in your face.
Without the tears and laughter
That come with life.
Without the pains
And wonder of love,
Of struggled,
Passionate creation,
And the sense of
Awe,
As the great organ
Of your being
Plays its music.

Copyright ©2002 Tony Crisp