Wednesday, January 14, 2015

The Appearance of Grief

Fire all consuming
With an emptiness inside -
The world is upside down
Until the sinews of my life
Break like threads in
 A rusty needle.

I am the one inside the
Proverbial haystack -
No one is looking for me.
They are all lost in their own
Piles of straw.

These waves of change
Flood the plain of our existence
Making it hard to breathe
Consuming all the oxygen
Until there is only
The tightness in my chest
The bowling ball in my belly.

I can bang against my chest
But no amount of violence
Will bring back what has been

Voluntarily returned
From whence she came.

I shuffle off the chaff that
Threatens to drown me
Emerge into the field of my bovine brethren
Squint against the glare of the fire in the sky.

This is my reality -
And, oddly, beautiful.

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