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The Guardian
by Kristina WoodhillWelcome to my Tower
let me take you on a tour
for this is where I play the Guard
the Keeper of their world
no locks are needed on this
aging sturdy oaken door
for like a tree it stands the strain
of weight hinged, stone, and more
the ground was broken years ago
where stands this mighty Tower
on the pain of my dear mother
as my father there lay down
her hands, mine and my brother's
laid his rounded corner stone
and swore to save his memory
within these walls hard honed
the blessing of my youth
has placed me on the bottom step
I hold the door to those whose
time has come, whose life is spent
I've built within the walls
some shelves to hold
their treasures dear
as they pass them on to me
to keep, to cherish and to share
the walls have been built slowly
by my elders as they pass
as the younger I hand up the stones
and hold the ladder fast
the steps inside rise steadily
as hands brush mine, then wave
they hand me what they cannot take
those things that must be saved
my brother left a book of stamps
the pieces of a boat
it's in the back niche of the tower
and never more will float
some shirts of dad's he asked of
me to take, I've ironed and hung
like tapestries they've softened
these old walls that see no sun
an afghan bright, some pottery
a bauble now and then
I place them lovingly and
hear their tales of this was when...
a pair of deerskin jackets
were just added to this safe
I hugged him oh, so closely
just to breathe in all he gave
I have become the Guardian
the Keeper of the Tower
I write their words and frame their stills
as each tock ticks the hour
I am the standing tall, their cane
their crutch as they grow weak
I am the smile, the nodding grin
that helps me hide the weep
Atop the tower as it has grown
I've lit a floating flame
it burns eternal with the glow
from whose fine lives it came
their tangibles sit safely and
I touch them now and then
but their burning essence
is what gives me peace and joy within
this Guardian has peace and joy within
04/06/2007
Posted on 04/06/2007
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 04/06/07 at 06:48 PM Hi Kristina. This is just delightful, I love:
some shirts of dad's he asked of/me to take, I've ironed and hung/like tapestries they've softened/these old walls that see no sun"...whole thing hits home with me, seriously so. Thanks.
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| Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 04/06/07 at 06:55 PM Memories bundled up in tangible artifacts....I like this very much. Thanks! |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 04/07/07 at 06:39 PM Kristina, this is incredibly wonderful and touched my heart. I have some things of Mom's that I treasure deeply. Maybe I can't have her in my life, but I can feel her love through the things I have of hers. Although the ones we love might be gone, we can still hold on to their memories through the things they loved. Beautiful!
~Chelle~ |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/10/07 at 01:31 AM Eloquent in its expression of loving memories. Great use of analogy. |
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