Funny old world and strangely wonderful the workings of the human heart. I had just finished writing a memorial for Deborah which was really quite hopeful and positive in my own uniquely Maria way. Then I started to write a poem for a class I am in and wham, there I was blind sided yet again, wallop, smack across the face. Grief is a bit like a worm wriggling its way to the surface. You are never sure when it will appear, if it it still there at all and where it might pop up.
Funny old world, indeed.
Has it been a year?
Funny old world, indeed.
Has it been a year?
Time seems so sluggish
quagmired in deep sludge,
emotional debris of a life lost and mourned.
Strange thoughts come in unguarded moments.
Are our lives recycled as some great cosmic compost
Cast upon the earth again?
It really hurt.
You made your exit
I missed my chance to say goodbye
but truly we already had.
Words are superfluous
when you inhabit one another's heads
think the same thoughts
live the same fears.
I remember you at 18
crying in my arms
because you felt life slipping away,
afraid already.
Damn, it still hurts,
tight feeling in my chest,
across my heart,
as tears fight to escape my eyes.
I feel a scream building up inside
I feel a scream building up inside
ready to explode
out into a world stripped bare of you.
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