Posted in a remembrance, rivers of tears


One of the most difficult decisions to make when a loved one transitions is what to do with their ashes?….just saying those words out loud holds intense pain for me, because it is an acknowledgement that my son’s physical form is no longer with me.
My son lived on a beautiful farm for a while, in a caravan that overlooked this spectacular valley. It is a self-sustaining farm and he helped plants vegetables. He sent me a message one night to say that he could see flashing lights in the sky and he asked me if I could see them. The sky was so clear that night, perhaps he was getting a glimpse of glory. The farm is appropriately named “Heartlands”. It is a place where he found peace, joy and love. So it is an option for me to plant a yellow-wood tree there with his beautiful ashes beneath the tree.
This farm was ravaged by a terrible fire a year ago, and they are in the process of rebuilding and replanting.


I can’t speak the words,
they died on my lips.
Their impressions linger
in my sobs.
The image in my mind
in charred embers,
searing pain in the intensity of sorrow.

I tried to put the words
down on paper,
but my frozen fingers
would not articulate
the movement of these words.

As I slept they smouldered
and throttled me.
Shrouds of memory erupted
in the stillness,
in dead of night.

Can’t I just pretend that he is still here,
full bodied,
Do I need to make that journey
with him,
into dust,
where the brown earth
would welcome him,
and a tree would stand proud,
above his Earthly remains?

Should I be glad that what is left
of him
fertilizes the earth?

Oh those words that hurt
and punch
the breath right out of me,
that my bones
could ache with such emptiness,
and soul shattering longing.

In the cold dark embodiment of fear
my hopes and dreams died.

In this pit
of darkness
and dread,
will my pain remain forever,
under soft earth,
and take up residence in my being?

His tenderness speaks to me
in vibrations,
emissions of light,
only known by my soul.

I must make this pilgrimage,
across fields occupied by brightness,
where he watched the stars
on tranquil nights.
He dreamed there,
in a caravan of hope,
and perhaps even glimpsed eternity,
in these Heartlands,
where joy still reigns,
and bristles in the majestic trees,
memoirs in poetry
of being loved.

I scream,
“he belonged to me”
and in those ashes are his bright eyes
and curly hair,

But those flames,
could not take his laughter.
I can still hear it,
echoing in the wind,
my child,
now shaped by pure light,



I am an unknown introvert who desires to touch the world with a little bit of magic...

6 thoughts on “Heartlands

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