The Morning

A new sunrise,
another dawn,
Eyes semi-opened,
A morning yawn.

Silence,
I no longer could hear,
The unusual voices,
sleep could hardly bear.

An uncanny mourning,
in air prevailed,
My thoughts,
in all directions sailed.

I heard his whining,
I could hear him cry,
Restlesness, any further,
forbade me to lie.

I jumped out of bed,
to follow the voice,
Slowly, hesitant,
certainly not by choice.

Every step,
made the cry louder,
I walked down the backyard,
he sounded familiar.

Miles away,
a human figure,
Sat by a tombstone,
crying, I thought, was de rigueur.

Awe developed into shock,
shock moulded to fear,
The voice echoed within me,
as the silhoutte drew near.

I began to run,
at the best of my pace,
In the opposite direction,
avoiding a glance at his face.

But moments could I run,
then tripped over a rock,
Unmoved, I lay there,
unconsciousness, a while, did I mock.

How could he be omnipresent,
I desired to run away,
Why only now, I feared,
how can today be the day?

And then I had to give up,
it was no ordinary stone,
In bold, it had my name carved,
and the face of the man was my own.

By my own grave,
I sat down and cried.........