Friday, July 5, 2013


Like layered, tissued longing

grief builds  slow and quiet,

beyond the call of consciousness

through ancient days and nights.

From earliest beginnings

life spreads it strong but sure;

within emotion's cellared heart

it waits to be recalled.

For everytime we need to shed

our Self, our dreams, our hopes,

we lay it down in silken spread

as grief's fresh broken face.

From our first breath it builds

and grows, like rings around a tree

and every time we feel new loss,

that floor will be revealed.

It is our sure foundation,

our feeling Self laid deep

and if we do not tend and mend

it will grow weaker yet.

We try to close the door each time

and lock the pain away,

but deep within our darkest Self

the damage is displayed.

Without the time and courage spent

to see and feel and heal,

we build our Self on shaky ground;
a floor which cannot hold.

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