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 le dragon


Linda Dousay

Clean and crisp the covering
of the man with whom we speak—
black and gray the pictures,
which defy our sanity:

Recent research renders
optimistic scheduling,
and while le dragon sleepeth,
we shall tip toe round his feet.

No book has yet been written
which defines the narrow bounds
when your mind is screaming, Mercy!
from your lips there is no sound—

To focus on a tapping pen,
a clipboard—or the floor,
and wonder when do dragons wake?
consumes each second’s chore.

Above the door, a banner hung—
Dad pointed and with pride
proclaimed, My name will be up there!
I hung my head and cried.

So began our journey
on a trip they’d all begun—
to cross a burning desert
without the light of sun.

Though strategies of warfare
can prepare us, in the end,
the path of pain through each man’s soul
is hard to comprehend.

Enemies of sanity
lay odds against the whole—
digging deep, they plant their seed
and wait for certain growth—

Seconds turned to minutes
as days slipped into years—
Daddy’s strength diminished
as Worry turned to Fear—

Confusion on the face I loved—
silence in a storm—
vacant stares at empty chairs—
pleadings to go home—

midnight drives through rainy streets—
long distance calls—no prayer—
Daddy's dying— Damn you all!
cursed upon the air.

Morning found its glory
in the presence of a child—
Our Father's hand extended,
fear forgiven in His smile—

Remove not ancient landmarks—
Seek me first—I heard Him say,
The weapons of our warfare
are not carnal to this day.

I Am the Way— You're not
alone—Trust Me with his life—
Suddenly the room was filled
with Love instead of strife.

One by one the family came—
each in their own way,
supporting weary warriors
of le dragon's fading day—

Golden Gladiators,
all united in one cause—
that all things work together
for the good of those we love.

I felt my father's spirit
soar above that savage land
but the grave could claim no vic’try
with his children hand in hand.

So our journey ended—
but the battle had been won,
when we could not cross the desert—
without the light of Son.

I think of you and wonder who
would ever have believed,
that I'd survive or live to write
the story of our grief.

For Gervis Clarence Dousay,
1927 – 2000, with special love for
Ralph & Dolores Landrum

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