never mind
We say hello and then goodbye
Every morning wondering why
T'was not gods will that you could stay
This pattern has become the way
That every day you die once more
Just seconds from the dawning day
And I must kill you that's for sure
Or never would I find some way
For even to get out of bed
I must remember you are dead
That memories are but evil thingsĀ
They only have the pain to bring
And mother I, find cruelty there
To kill you more than I can bear
Yet every morn and every night
We know hello and then goodnight
And so again each day you die
And ours is not to reason why
This pattern has become the norm
I kill us both to carry on
My useless arms can't reach god's shore
My useless eyes see you no more
Yet you and I are soul entwined
But you are dead and never mind
they sayĀ
M ~
Ā
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So they say, I always find people who don't show compassion and empathy for those like you and I who have truly felt the wrath of grief are very cold, but then I think maybe just maybe they don't know what it feels like yet. This makes me think about my own beloved mother and you once told me that you and your mother used to sit at the kitchen table chatting over everything including a tea pot and those memories my dear friend should never die. I find that my writing is at its best when I'm surrounded by the moments of memory of all I've lost. Your poetry is just that poetry and may I say at its finest because my dear Marion it comes from your heart, and I can feel that. š¹ ā¤ļø
Hi love... that was my Nan... very special lady. Ah, its not about needing sympathy or empathy... neither is needed or wanted. It's more about society as a whole. The grief expectation of that neat little package
' beginning middle end ' is an abomination to parents who will never find an 'end'Ā the shameful silence inflicted on us. I think perhaps that why I write so much...Ā I rebel ... hugs x
Oh Marion, words are just not enough. I send you all my love, BĀ
I felel the hug... thankyou B. Though honestly I don't write for sympathy truly.
I write to expell the carnage in my head and heart...Mothers dont 'get through' grief... they become the grief. It is its own unique living thing... it breathes.Ā
Writing is all there is. Hugs my friend x
Ā
We once spoke of my shying away from being brave , do you remember? Now I find is the 'never' appropriate time to say, there's a poem of mine you might have missed, though I considered you just didn't like it, for reasons you'll understand if you have read it, but maybe you haven't and I wonder if you'd like it. I didn't want to force. It is called Calm. A subject of which I don't suppose you would relate to.
Thanks for alerting me... I'll take a look x
Wow, it's just sooo wow!