Closure
and beauty rarely honest
were woven into souls
which roamed the shadowed hallways
while deftly serving poisons
through bottle and syringe.
When night gave stage to terror
which fell upon you daily
into the light you stared
remembering bits of beauty
once woven of your memory
held again by your own hand.
Pain can blur the boundaries
all just and fairly placed
along this melting path
where a new horizon's promise
can slip the primal clutch
when the human heart is torn.
From shadowed bends
to enlightened suns
beyond the edge of grief
we cannot hide
nor hope to run...
may our passage bring us peace.
This poem is dedicated to my Mother, Catherine. Although I felt it coming, still, I was stunned by her passing. Now, sensing the approach of closure, I realize that even in death, she taught. I am reminded that letting go is not the same as forgetting; that moving forward is not selfish...both are necessary and fundamental beats in life's rhythm. Thank you for my moment. Bravo!
Published by Orchiolum
Progressive, tree hugging, Earth loving free thinker. When I see the Royals I am reminded of a world in need. View profile
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76 Comments
Post a CommentWhat a privilege to read work like this...masterfully done...beautiful.
Merry Christmas!
I thought I was subscribed to you. I am now, once again. I relate to your love, pain and grief over your mother. I guess this is an older one but I am back to read again. I love your raw, emotional and beautiful poetry. Your mother was a gorgeous woman, on the outside, and obviously on the inside too. She was lucky to have you as a son, and you are obviously lucky to have had her as a mother.
I like the alternation between two worlds - one is unseen, but then is held in the hand.
The void that death and parting bring is beyond grief. But the living has to carry on - siva
A very moving and heartfelt poem, I can see what she meant to you.
I too feel your grief. Not many can express their pain so beautifully through poetry as you can. Your mother was very lucky to have such a special, loving son as you. She was a beauty too. I love her photo. I am sorry too for her pain, and yours. My father would have been 88 years old next week, if he would have lived through this last "tomata pickin"
Orchiolum, thanks for reading my newest poem about my son, I just read yours about your mom (i think) Like yoiu, I dont think there willbe peace or consolation in this plane. Its too deep, cuts like a sabre,over and over and over...so nice to see your work and hear your comments...thanks
Brenda lewis
This poem is so incredible. The page aches for your pen, sir. &)
This came from your heart- but spoke for all of us who have known the darkness of grief....."beyond the edge of grief"..."May our passage bring us peace"...