raw with grief
or is it the whiskey
each fuelling the other
push magma down my face
but instead of sulphur
it's the sodium that burns
they say applying pressure on coal
gives you a diamond
the weight of your loss
cuts with clarity
time is precious
life is finite.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. Sometimes grief can’t let you say things, so you have to write them down. Enough of the moroseness; I hope you’re doing well, and if you want to read something lighthearted after this, I’d recommend this poem.
The last of the dahlias were picked last week ruby red, imperial, majestic they ruled the garden so to let them drown in the relentless October rain would have been sacrilege instead, we slipped them into a glass-vase coma keeping them alive until scarlet turned to rust and petals slipped away and we were ready to say our farewells
softened stems were carried and placed among the compost pile so memories of their life can grow a new family of flora and their majesty return.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. Please feel free to have a look around my site for more of my work.
we are all mauled lions hunting to regain our pride questioning whether we can be heard because often none roar back when we are loudest in our pain we only hear the drum of shame on the wind and feel the stinging reek of guilt from those we ran with in the good times fearless when the sky was light blue, coral and ochre but when the darkness descends in jet, midnight and fog they are scared to acknowledge us scared they will be tainted scared their roars won’t be answered yet to realise we are all mauled lions.