Bear

• Amelia Hurst, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2013

The liquid gold of Morning snaps our dreary eyes open,
Chasing the ebony horses of Night from our frail and shaky minds,
She picks me up so slowly, as all the world can wait,
And so gently places me on my perch as though lifted by a breeze.
This dusty shelf of brokenness and shattering, of dark and daring shadows,
A dull ringing of the crowded solitude reminds me of my past.

Last night was a never-ending battle between almighty Fear and dreaded Sleep,
I saw Terror dance within her eyes and pitch black Horror
Lounge languidly underneath.
Her tight and breathless hugs forced an iron clamp around my heart
Her tears dissolving the flimsy barrier I created to stop all her fears.
The night-time tumbled and tossed, a violent sea of worry,
Its dark blanket of apprehension filled our eyes and ears to brim.
Morning broke over our ruined wreck of sleep
The pale light not reassuring, just ice cold fingertips flitting down our necks.

While her pulse quickens and her fingers quiver,
My threadbare coat sighs with the strain of holding threads together.
Her eyes, though tired, are clear and alight with purpose,
While mine a burnt and blackened glass. I watch….
As she wrestles with the oppressing uniform
See the trembling fingers stutter at the snickering of the unruly buttons.
I smell fear radiate from her skin like a predator might a prey.
How I wish we could go back to our innocent beginnings,
Ah, all the memories of sweet, sweet childhood.

And as I watch her leave behind our glistening sunlit past,
I’m reminded of a memory that we alone both share… Wash day.
That evil black cloud looming one day every year,
That monster, that shining metal demon ravenous for a meal
Its hungry mouth gaping and glaring,
Salivating soap bubbles and tidal waves of froth.

Oh, but do not dare to trust such a beast!
For inside its voluptuous cavern you would be lost,
Drowning, sinking, swooping,
Up and down, round-about, a raging rapid of clean,
And she would stand forlornly like a tall, lone tree surrounded by weeds,
Watching my progress inside this maelstrom of water,
A Mother Hen of grief.

Finally the torturous journey would be over,
My battered and bruised body weeping with the pain,
Tired, oh so tired and dreaming of the peace
Welcomed in the serenity of the comforting bed of calm.


She parts my life with one last embrace
Ebbing and flowing now in my memory like some faraway stream,
One final, tear-stained kiss upon my already soggy brow,
We both knew this day would come but never quite believed it,
This ragged rift torn through our hearts
Is but a sacrifice of love to continue in our dreams.

Sitting on this shelf of dust,
This shelf of forgotten dreams and hopes,
Tendrils of regret slowly creeping up my tattered coat.
Musty air of despair silently choking down my throat.
Too weak now, too weak to raise a buffered paw and wave
As my owner slowly melts away out that golden door of Past
And into the awaiting Future.