A couple of days ago I wrote this poem. It came to me quite suddenly and without difficulty at all. When I read it I know that my heart hasn’t mended as much as it should. I worry that if I don’t settle my feelings now, that later they may cause me problems. I thought I felt a little better the last few day, but still my emotions uncontrollably break out at any time. I have decided that I cannot curtail the grief that I feel. It is inevitable and it will last as long as necessary. I believe I will reach a point where all emotions will coalesce and quiet and become little tags of remembrances on particular days.
I never realized death can cause as much anguish as I have felt and as I continue to feel. It is elusive and enveloping at the same time. It is debilating and foreign. It is something that should have been kept from the living equation. I can’t imagine if I were an animal and I needed to deal with the feeling that is inside. We once had two wonderful dogs. Max the beautiful white German Shephard left first. Moishe, the smaller English Springer Spaniel, although quite sick himself, showed such phyical signs of loneliness that we feared he would get even sicker. His look remained with him until it was his day. I think that was a happy day for him.
And now, with my thoughts playing their will on me, I think I shall continue at another time.
If I let go of all the things I know,
if I toss from my heart what tugs at its’ walls,
if I take the chance to step on to the edge of my soul,
then will I be better or worse than I am.
Will the sun shine again as bright as before,
will I never again feel the anxiety within my mind or,
can I take a hold of all the scarred, ragged edges
and bring them back and sew them together again?
If I bend and pick up the pieces of me
If I reach and hold onto the sweetest of the memories,
If I sit and stare at the nothing I see in the vision of my soul,
then will color be able to return to the space I see with my eyes.
Will sorrow that pierces and gouges the heart,
be changed so that the spring returns to the soul
or will tomorrow only bring another spear
laced with grief that only I can feel its’ sting?