I thought I saw an archer standing silent by this door, this door of grief and dying that I came to Missouri for. It seems my Grammy heard a voice of night that called her name, I come to grieve her homeward, and it’s here you stand the same. Your hair is just as golden as the hay on that summer floor, your twinkling eyes of mystery, that steered my boyhood to its shore. A sorceress of a summer heat a mystery not ignored. You come as a full lady, with a child at your door, and as we stand together crying, you whisper I see that you still fly.
Oh, mystery of the ages that this woman still recalls, those times of plaintive stages when we touched upon the straw. Why it is now were standing here your bow you do now draw, standing here in death’s still hall, you still remember all.
Its 1987, time has come upon me as a man, the changes of the future hold my past from which I ran. Though she remembers here, and now I was her lovely bird, that went afar a flying, while she stayed upon the earth. It’s funny how strange memories come calling from so far away, as we walk the final line in black toward the edge of Grammy’s grave.
We walk outside the funeral home the November sky cold and gray, a far cry from the blue of summers in the hay fields where we lay. I look at her my face ice drawn, for I’ve loved her all my days, she bends her bow, and kisses me and whispers, “It’s okay”.
She remembers taking me so young, upon a summer day, and drawing me a way of life, that was not meant to stay. She claims I was a bird that fell, her arrow shot well placed, and she an archer bound and pure sought to love her prey. But in the end she was a girl, and I a boy who flew away, she remembers history, that way.
Today was a cold November day, just like by my Grammy’s grave. When my childhood archer said she let me fly away. She remembered something as we went to go our way. Her eyes were like grey glass, still, as I heard her say, “You should fly on now, it’s me that has to stay, it’s me that has to stay”.
I thought I saw an archer standing silent by this door. – 11.20.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל
(All Rights) Eric Carmen – She Remembered
Daniel Swearingen 
Such a sweet, haunting love and memory. Thank you so much for sharing this gem of prose.
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Thank you for your compliment, I am happy you enjoyed this.
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Oh, my night-born Scorpio brother, you made me cry again! I relished your older posts again, and you couldn’t find a more heart-melting ballad, could you?
Thank you for your healing friendship, Daniel. Be well always.
Shalom, Leon
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Leon, So kind of you to say, except I pray your tears are happy teared, as my intention is not to make anyone sad. 🙂 It’s nice to look back on certain things in life and think, how really wonderful it was to experience that kind of emotion, and how it made you grow and prepare yourself for the real love that was to come your way. Thank you for reading and commenting my brother, I hope all is going well for you, I think of you often, and do say a prayer for you and Plutonia when I do. Shabbat Shalom, Daniel
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Daniel, if some sadness, too, is triggered in my soul through your craftsmanship of words, it is never your fault. I do see your intention with each one of your gems, and I admire you for radiating so much Light when I know how acquainted with Hades you are yourself.
Thank you for the penetrating intuitive look into the agonizing emptiness of my growing up in an asylum of a family. It is almost impossible, practically too, to get over the consequences of their intentionally destroying all my relationships with people before they could even start blooming, not just with girls, any relationship that would help me live normally in human society. Plutonia has been bitterly fighting just like me, I am thankful we can be standing by one another and I have come to appreciate my hard karmic lessons. Please don’t worry about these seemingly never-healing wounds of mine, dearest brother; it’s OK; really. You are definitely not the one who is scratching them open, and your uplifting spirit helps me a lot. I am never ever paying shallow compliments; when I speak of your “healing friendship”, I mean it. My thoughts for you are focused prayers too, Daniel.
Shalom, Leon
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Daniel I so love your work. Set out as stories, your thoughts wrap around each other. This was beautiful, thank you.
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Your more than welcome Jenny, very happy you enjoyed it. 🙂
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