Basking
They say that should the sun burn out
it would take eight minutes for the last
beam to reach us. Then blackout,
and fading memories of a past
when time was like a roundabout –
one side lit up, the other cast
in shadow. Children would be born
no longer needing the word for dawn.
If you left me, what kindly light
would dazzle for a day or two
in which to fool myself you might
come back, even if deep-down I knew
I’d hurt you too much for our night
to end in cock-a-doodle-do –
the doorbell ringing, a grand entrance,
the sunshine of a second chance.
Maybe of course the whole round world
is basking in a light which died
long, long ago, which could have healed
our deeper hurt. Light we denied.
But who will be the more appalled
when a final ray proves the ones who lied
were those who claimed love lingers here
still helping us our cross to bear?
Tom Vaughan
If you have any thoughts
about this poem, Tom
Vaughan would like to hear them.
