Why wake up in the morning

To stare at nothing

And relive the dark moments

Just before the light went

Out of the dear life

And the paralysis

Of every fiber set in?

The might-have-beens parade

In never ending colums

To torment and point

At every little action

Or inaction of someone

Who could have

Or should have

Done something

Or other

That might have

Made the difference!

Life is sidelined

And stays in shadows,

Forgetting  routines-

Waking, sleeping, eating.

Then, the onslaught

Of torrential out-pours

That dry out tear ducts

And wring out torment

At the touch of a jacket,

The sight of a furled umbrella

And the black sandals

In the kitchen- ever ready-

Either for inclement weather

Or to be worn off carpets,

At the sight of a brochure

Of long planned trips,

Or the feel of the briefcase

Ever carrying work

For tomorrows…

Until the day awakens

When, in balmy moments,

A thought is compared,

A joke is shared,

And your hand is held,

In spirit, for ever.

4 thoughts on “Grief

  1. How powerful and sad. You have captured so much feeling in your writing. I hope it is helping at least a little. LIz

    • Poetry is supposed to convey experience through objects and images, etc. If people say what they feel in so many words without the tangibles and the concrete, it is not pure poetry according to T.S. Eliot. He calls it the Objective Correlative and Keats calls it the Negative Capability. I am trying to do that. Of course, I am not of a stature like them. I am the worst critic of what I write.

  2. So very well written, Rosy! Hope it is getting a little better as time goes by –seeing his jacket, or his black sandals, or briefcase, or umbrella, etc. bring comfort not sorrow. The list of trips planned with him but not taken, should be, could be checked off with another person or a group eventually?

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