The Long Shadow Poem by Edmund V. Strolis

The Long Shadow

Rating: 5.0


Now with possessions so few, hoisted and bundled on wagons secure.

The measured remains still too many, to flee from the thunder of war.
His family their faces so tired, will need all their strength to endure.
As westward they travel the miles, can life ever be like before?

Goodbye to the bench in the garden where she joyfully accepted his hand.
Farewell to the arch in the hallway with holes where the mistletoe hung.
No more will he stop at the long gate that led to the sweet pastured land.
Or drink deep from the well he had dug making hay in the hot July sun.

He will miss even more the creak of the steps at the end of a long hard day.
Gone the whistle the chimney would make when the fierce winds of winter came.
Never again will his long shadow on Sunday mornings be cast along this way.
Who now will tend this hallowed ground, and pull the bitter weeds from the graves?

The Long Shadow
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: loneliness,longing,refugee
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Clarence Prince 03 May 2016

As westward they travel the miles, can life every be like before? That's really hard to say, but with God, all things are possible! Sadly as this poem is, in life there's still hope. Thanks for sharing, Edmund!

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Edmund Strolis 06 October 2015

I was reading a poem by Kelly Kurt and I apologized for making the suggestion but asked if he considered adding a word in the last line. It made the last two words four syllables and flowed gently in rhyme time. It did not seemed forced or sing songy just natural. I hope that he did not take offense. I was well meaning however since I am one with skin as thick as a bull elephant I sometimes am shocked when others are not. I like his poetry. You have an eye and an ear that makes you exceptional. You summed up the gently flowing nature of my writing. Not forced or clumsy, not compromising but like a violin solo. As for the picture, no not a family plot but much like the family cemeteries I saw in Lithuania. Where my grandparents fled from the Russians that had just murdered his whole family. Just because they could. His poetry is sad and longing. The most civilized man that I have ever known. Too much death, so much lost. Strolis is a Lithuanian name although my mother came from Venice. An amazing story of her own that I will put to pen. Keep up the wonderful writing, you are my favorite modern poet!

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Pamela Sinicrope 05 October 2015

This is a beautiful sad poem. I feel the regret and loss. And the picture.... I was trying to figure out why I characterized your writing as having 'gentle rhyming.' I think it's the longer sentences. I like the effect. It keeps the reading flowing without being 'sing songy.' You have a way with your pen. Is this a picture of a family plot and are you writing about ancestors (wagons) ... Settling here.... Or is this commentary about immigrants moving forward (war) .... I saw a little of both in this unique write.

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