Grief and Poems

As I've alluded to in previous posts, this year has been one marked with a lot of personal grief, some accidentally imposed and some of my own making. The thing about grief is that it is not a respecter of circumstance. It cares little how you came to find yourself on its doorstep. It knows your mere presence means it is now in control. If you were not a victim before, grief bends you to its will and at least for a time, your life is no longer your own.

Sometimes grief shows up in paralysis and you only know you are alive because somehow you are still breathing. 

Sometimes it appears in panic and nights become prolonged stretches of terror. 

Sometimes grief feels insurmountable and you are physically dehydrated from the seemingly unending outpouring of tears. 

Sometimes it is a torrent of anger and you fear the rage rattling the hinges of your cage.

Sometimes grief is quiet and you find yourself the absence of everything. 

And sometimes, not often, it is gracious, allowing bits of hope in unexpected moments to share the doorstep with you. 

A few of these moments showed up for me this weekend. 'Showed up' is a nice term. It was more like 'jolted me out of bed in the middle of each night' but at least they didn't come empty handed. For someone beginning to wonder if I was ever going to write anything again, it was a welcome relief. These three poems are the humble gifts grief left on the doorstep.

NIGHT

Tortured souls do not sleep

They wander lonely hours through the darkened alleyways inside their heads

Twisting, turning, searching…never finding

My mind is a dangerous neighborhood

Rest escapes the weary traveler

Seeking refuge inside the panic rooms of two and three a.m.

Asking, calling, hoping…never hearing

My solitude is a deafening silence

Dreams haunt the darkness

Float like ghosts among the shadows of conscious thought

Stirring, frightening, watching…never ceasing

My fear is a constant companion

UNSAID

           He spoke in silences

Intentionally placed pauses

Everything he couldn’t say

or do

or be

                                               I heard every absence

Unreturned promises

Heaviness born out of

foolish

devotion

                                                I filled the empty spaces

The fog of unrelenting hope

Ears ringing with the

sounds of

my own voice

                                                His voice struck dumb

Muted by cowardice

The dissonance of warring

heart and

mind

                                                I refuse to listen

Self-imposed deafness

Ignoring the reverberations

of his truth

and his lies

FIFTEEN MINUTES

You have fifteen minutes to break down.

Use your seconds well

If tears shall etch new pathways

Dry them where they fell

You have twelve minutes to disappear

Where can you possibly go?

The walls are caving as we speak

Upon your crumpled mess below

You have nine minutes left to grieve

The clock is ticking down

The noises that are escaping now

Soon will make no sound

You have six minutes in which to sink

Before you come up for air

The pain will feel impossible

Though there is so still much to bear

You have three minutes left to feel

Final countdown has begun

Take a breath, wipe your face

And return yourself to numb

You have one minute to pull it together

Not a moment more

The unforgiving clock stops dead

When the children walk through the door