Poem -
The Hurting Days
No matter then that hair falls out
That parched lips shout, that hearts
skip beats
That beds are now the living space
For who can walk on clenched up
feet
As minutes tick the death away
Still limbs will break and skin will
fray
And souls deflate like bubbles burst
For who can carry weighted hurt
When eyes like marble crack and
gaze
To view a world through baleful
haze
And still, backs crack and fingers
graze
For who survives grief's hurting
days
M ~
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Comments
It would be far too easy to simply suggest that all things pass .. of course, almost all things have a best before date .. but then again, some things shouldn't be allowed to, because they are indeed far too precious
.. and there are a lot of bullshitters out there ..
and then, there's grief of course .. I don't know for sure whether anyone wholly and totally remains the same once they have experienced it .. x
Hi Nev, glad you commented on this as it highlighted some mistakes lol.( rectified) You know I have much experience of lost loved ones as do we all but this, this is an entirely different experience...and we will leave it at that. I think somewhere in our psychs we grow up with the vague idea we will lose our parents, grandparents, possibly the odd friend. Then we bury that knowledge but pathways are formed. There is no such pathway for the death of your own child. It is off the scale it literally makes you mentally ill. We are taught that death has an order and that, when you really look around, is the biggest lie of all and as death is such a taboo subject in our enlightened western society there really are no outlets to work through the extistential horror and fall out. In my case thank fuck for writing. People think I won't let it go...they are right...I won't, I let them go instead, it is not possible to discard such a powerful and intense love and connection...God and world opinion can go fuck.themselves lol. I ramble...not like me...🤔🤔🤩...sincere thanks my friend x