THE SHADOWS
(for Michael Stephenson, in honour of his father Jim, 1945-2019)
We emerge from the shadows
from the womb of our home town
and end up back there
scarred
and weary of life itself
with a globe of the world
in our hardened hands.
Those things we leave behind us
are remnants of a little joy,
a painful love
scattered over the skin of our children,
petals of fuchsias washed away,
drifting
with the Wear
into the wild sea
rocking
with songs
of the lost
and the broken.
The loving themes of our youth though
carry on
in the sunshine
drenching the Stadium of Light
with hope
amongst so much clinging darkness.
Jim, I will look for your smile
in these shadows
and will never forget
your echoing laughter
and the scent of steam trains
that made me
what I am:
a grown up man with a guitar,
strumming in your image,
forever
in the heart
of this place called Sunderland.
KEITH ARMSTRONG
