Bated bereavement

One week without waning;

blazing, blinding, burning.

Heaven; letting her jubilance known,

Seizing; gloating at her gain-

And my injustice in the injury.


Glorious, pale, glassy windows-

closed to this world.

Light, consuming all-

except the darkness within – darkness, without you.


Like message in a bottle,

bereft of buoyancy,

sunken at sea,

algae only to smotheringly embrace its floundering sentiment.

Covered by sediment,

this paper-thin promise,

lost to Nature’s pull.


Or car park covering King,

but this time, concrete kingdom conquers.

No searching students here;

just dry bones, left where laid.

Engines roll above, oblivious to the royal grave.


Or milestone, marking

a long un-trodden track;

where thickets threaten flesh laid bare,

as if to snatch the time lost, back.


Then, on the fell,

our feet did find,

Some solace-spot to still the mind.

But weasel winding wick the wall-

Did loom lament and tempt the fall,

From grace, to grieve, what I now lack,

And bargain all to bring it back.


Glimpsed within the tufted turf,

gleaming pale and lilac glow.

A ring of mushrooms supped the earth;

field blewits, of worth unknown.

Tempting twist of reckless woe,

with chance to take or pain forgo.


And still the light stayed, lingered on.

A testament to brighter trait.

Where loving deep and suffering long,

Did not resent her wicked fate.

Although time past can’t be replayed,

rose-hips sweet remain unchanged.

Like threatened bees, theirs foes to warn,

will blinding buzz, with threat to swarm

On brain-belt loop, regrets play on.


But Joy, in sadness bittersweet,

will memory of best times meet.

Of twisting hand-tied chiffon bright,

Perceiving much, but poor of sight.

Working twine and thread in twill,

with hands employed by love and skill.

To laugh at life and gladness grasp-

such beatitudes, I will to last.

Now happiness is fading fast –

as times recalled are all now past.


And yet, this light breaks inky-dark,

It prompts me to her gift, impart.

To seek this grace and not postpone:

to love so much, is loss made known.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s