It’s a silent thing.
It screams so loud
In your heart..
But is a sound of such frequency,
Noone can hear but you.
It can shatter glass
And frighten animals
who are attuned to such pitches
.. It is primal.. Other worldly..
Frightening to the core..
Unbearable even to the most strong of spirit,or
The most robust to the familiarity of pain.
Grief is the most lonely place..
Lonelier than the darkest alley,
The furthest corner of the planet,
Where only ghosts and shadows dwell
Tis the place of nightmarish fever,
But in the place between sleep and wake,
Is unfortunately my new reality..
It is a thing of the night,
Darkest night of the soul..
Clicheed as that might seem..
Words are clumsy..
There are no words to put to the waves of grief.
But still I will try,
Because to be human is to know the pain of loss..
And words are the language of us humans..
Stumbling and clumsily,
I try to type,
To unravel myself,
Dismantel my former self
In the prayer that somebody will read this jumble of letters,
decode them, somehow
And reach out to me in spirit..
Offer me comfort,
That maybe you have felt this way too, once, ..
And you will reach out your hand.. So I can feel warmth
Where inside I am so frozen, from the shock of the death of the us I once knew..
Not with words , but with silence,
That I will keep breathing..
That you did too,
And we can breathe together,
Wait patiently for the broken shards of shattered dreams
And form a new organ,
Fresh and ready to love…
Yet To be broken again.