Engine 927
For Hampton and Tom B who both left this earth on 9/27
Engine number nine-two-seven.
“All aboard,” cries the headman.
Polished bright, it stalks the night.
Through village towns and urban homes
Without fail the world it roams.
Twenty- four bells from heaven to hell.
•
Past depots and empty docks,
Re-al-i-ty denied and mocked.
People slept while Azrael crept.
Humans, young and old despise.
Clarions, for names incised,
Tolling bells and earthbound hells.
•
Speeding down the tracks of life
Parting, cutting, with its scythe.
Reapers rip and spirits clipped.
Pickers swing, screams pierce the night,
loved ones gone past the divide.
Death has come, our worlds undone,
•
Angels count, punched tickets due,
Unprejudiced, of any hue.
Corpses cold lay in their hold.
My-ster-ies; life redefined,
Once alive, now out of time.
Each a clock………… stopped.
•
Murderers hide, rivals dance.
Heedless whether wolf or lamb.
Family joys the Grim destroys.
Engine number nine-two-seven
Next stop, the gates of heaven
Took my son, and Vocal friend.
•
Two fine men the world has lost
On this day, we honor, pause,
to celebrate and dedicate.
First a Student in his prime,
then a Wordsmith of his time.
On their lives we meditate.
***
Rest assured our ticket waits.
Departure set by who Creates.
A date for all, a final call.
Reapers come, and cast their pall,
Winter, spring, summer, or fall
Young or old or slag or gold.
•
Love all people while you may.
No one knows their final day.
Live it right and share your light,
Next comes Engine Nine-two-eight
The Grim Reaper, patient, waits.
Polished bright, it stalks the night.
•
Nine-two-nine awaits in line.
Nine-three-o, is ready to go.
Ten-o-one will be on time.
Ten-o-two, …….
Ten-o-three……
Infinity……
……
……
……
**** **** **** ****
9/27/2018 my son, Hampton Wade was killed on S.C. Highways. Three years later I awoke dreading the day when notice was sent to me our dear Vocal mentor and friend, Tom Bradbury, had died in tragic fire in France. Double loss, one near and one far, is a reminder of the frailty of life. Tom was finally laid to rest this past summer in his beloved England.
I dedicate this poem in memory of both. Two fine men, who both gave generously to the world around them.
Neither will ever be forgotten as long as I have breath and my the engine comes to take me away. I will run the heavens with my precious son and sit with Tom as he critiques my writing. Maybe he’s screaming now about this poem. 😂
On 9/27 I hope you join me in this remembrance.
lance
About the Creator
J. S. Wade
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. S. Wade owns all work contained here.
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