Friday, December 2, 2011


The others speak of comfort as if comfort can exist
after cataclysmic trauma, after losses such as this.
Please don't try to lift me as my heart has not yet healed
It was melted in the fire and has not yet re-congealed
It was shattered 'neath the hammer and has not yet crystallized
It was dissolved into a dew and has not yet materialized
It was torn apart in the attack and still lies strewn around
It was paralyzed and still remains so from the sudden trumpet sound
It was ground to dust and pebble between the millstones of disaster
It was tumbled off its pedestal like shattered alabaster
It was frozen when the icicle of death fell from the blue
It was tangled in grief's coiling net and has not yet struggled through
It lies beneath the waves of chaos suffering from the theft of love
Awaiting some all-healing spirit hovering above

4 comments:

  1. Poetreehugger, my heart hurts for your grief and pain.

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  2. Thank you, Perpetua. There seems to be some benefit to me in the "expressing" of it, in words or photography.

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  3. Poetreehugger, I'm with Perpetua: my heart, too, hurts for your grief and pain.

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  4. Thank you. The Advent season, of waiting for the light, is more meaningful when in darkness.

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