Best Grief Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Grief poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of grief poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Grief poems, articles about Grief poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Grief poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
New Grief Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Grief poems are below this new poems list.
by Newlin, John
Grief is Love with Nowhere To Go
by Dear Heart , Broken Wings-
There is Relief to Your Grief
by Earnings, JW
by TheKidster, Billy
period of grief
by Tharp, A.D
by Donnelly, Artsieladie Sharon
Too Much Grief
by Dear Heart , Broken Wings-
ASP OF GRIEF
by Rodrigues, Kim
Hurricane Of Grief Threatens
by Chiri, Brenda
by Donnelly, Artsieladie Sharon
View all new Grief Poems
The Best Grief Poems
One need not read her horoscope to know
this woman's fate, and though wisteria
cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow
outside her door, it's still Siberia
pervading the dimensions of her mind,
for not one fickle thought or patch of moss
can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined.
No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss
surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce,
but like a barren continent grown cold,
she can't perceive one particle of bliss.
She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled!
Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze,
but in her soul remains a winter's freeze.
For Janice Canerdy's Sonnet Poetry Contest
and now for Laura Loo's 'Best Sonnet' Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
*The Dead Poet*
Many blocks along the road,
Kicking down walls of heavy stones,
Yet no one could draw through the walls of her lonely bones.
A poet who could not write what's inside.
Her pen had gone ink dry.
Her beady eyes lost the feel of an angelic realm.
She tried until she could no longer cry!
A poet who stuttered with the mind and out came no words.
This poet hangs on a mound with a picture that tells a sad tale.
A poem that broke verses in a Carpe diem dream.
She ruffled her arms once more as if she could fly.
Everything felt dead inside.
Trap in a mental state that clots the willing vein.
Isolating her form in a room with no door.
She stays this away from the feel of the marvel pen.
To never go back, and feel again.
In the most ominous way,
She lets out a cry,
A cry, never heard before.
Running from this evil, that stain her world.
Words buried deep and behind a new exterior box,
Her insides grasp all the air of airs once alive.
A talon drop into the next,
This troublesome poet gave up on everything.
Had nothing left, but the empty space within.
She curls herself into a fetal world.
At last, she closes her eyes, to feel no more.
A poet who died the day, joy wiped the glee from her face.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
It is quiet tonight.
The only sound is coming from
the soft murmur of the television set.
I don't know why I don't just put it on mute.
I don't want to hear what they have to say,
but I guess it is better than the sound
of silence which is deafening.
It hurts my ears, it hurts my heart.
Yesterday I was happy, but that was before,
before I stepped into the dark abyss.
I think I may have been pulled in
by the apathy of death.
Death has such long arms.
I won't ask why, I know everyone must die.
But you left on a happy day, a day we were
making plans, and I had hope,
hope that we still had time,
time to share those plans.
You made me laugh until I cried that day,
and then death swooped in
and took it all away.
It is so quiet tonight.
© Connie Marcum Wong
August 10, 2016 Poem of the Day
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
Not with my arms but with a heart
that blesses your reveries, may peace reside
within your chest... is it possible to love you
less? Perhaps allow the sun to brush your hair
in the luminescence of dawn?
Even autumn envies you as white light
moves with your scent and possesses
your laughter never to be mine again in times
of harvest or falling rain…
and from stars above, may your eyes
remember our blades of grass
while I half-close the damp field of memorials
creaking on the burial of a resting place
that finds me kneeling, wailing, asking how time
can drown our adventures much too soon...
as I stumble upon this cruel, bruised night.
Contest No. 410 of Brian Strand
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
Sitting by his bed
Time is short
Holding his hand
A prayer – for him, for me
Be strong and courageous
Eyes blink open for a moment
Then nothing – gone
Death pallor forms
Alone in the moment
Cell Phone rings
My daughter in a panic
Fear spikes my heart
Dad – there are ants in the bathroom
Relief – exhaling
Death in the moment
But also Life
Goodbye dear friend
Our time over
Your precious love and wisdom
To guide my moments
In every situation
In every moment
Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2014
There are so many doors
Which ones should I choose
Green, yellow, brown, purple
and many different blues
Some of them are rustic
Others modern and clean
Some lead to the future
others back where I've been
Some doors open easily
while quite a few are locked
There are some left open
and others that are blocked
A few so enticing
promise pleasure within
They are slightly hidden
so few will see me sin
I look through some keyholes
wondering if I'll be safe
I see rooms of plenty
and tables draped in lace
The doors that are daunting
they fill me with such dread
for I know there's sadness
in the land of the dead
Many doors are happy
Friends and loved ones are there
those doors are the best ones
being with people who care
Behind some there's music
Pleasured time we can share
Moments of pure magic
those times are far to rare
Doors leading to adventure
Made me glad I took the chance
The sheer exhilaration
that caused my spirit to dance
Some doorways disguised as books
Yes they caused my mind to grow
They pointed to other doors
so I knew which way to go
The doors that I left closed
In the end I don't regret
They could have brought me ruin
or led my soul into debt
Of all the doors I'll walk through
The final one is the best
For there my Saviour waits
therefore, I know I am blessed
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2017
with each crest of a wave
forming white crystal peaks
she weeps, inhales, let's go.
beneath a star studded vista
a resplendent guiding light
arms open, palms up, she is free.
the soothing sea winds
carrying away her grief and sorrow
hands posed in devotion, she smiles.
in a seascape of serenity
her baptism place of choice
she steps forward, her new beginning.
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2017
Fair maiden alas why thy face doest thou hide?
Wilt thou a shadow cast across the sun and sea
From mine eyes or them daring to perceive betide
Thine hidden beauty barred but to all ‘cept to thee?
For fear doest thou sink a thousand Galleons?
Pray tarry a while - for mine eyes t’will ne'er deceive
One last wish afore I sadly depart this life
For heaven to glimpse hitherto thou doth must leave
Fair maiden alas why thy face doest thou hide?
Might it be thine beauty causeth a falling sky
Perchance of fear the moon wilt blush and turn the tide?
A crumbled man then thou must leave alone to die
Mine number thou hast - I do fear thee not Death - satiate mine thirst
Cast thy veil I beseech - reveal thy beauty ‘fore mine heart doth burst
Point to ponder:
Death perchance may not only come as the male grim reaper?
Could it be Death is also in the guise of a beautiful female immortal, in love with a mortal man wishing for him to join her in the immortality to which it’s her doom to exist for eternity?
"My Immortal" by Evanescence - Published on Jan 29, 2007
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy, with goals
beyond our reach...beyond belief
beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space, we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home...
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
Hope, A Little Remained
She walked the creaking floors of the rat-infested room,
trying to remember what tragedy had sent her to this shabby place.
Her heart felt the desperate pains, that lost love sends in aching waves,
praying her sleeping infant does not wake and cry out from its feverish thirst.
He paced the cold cell, languishing in deep misery, heart shattered,
each step an eternity echoing curses, a testament to his broken pride.
Although thousands of miles apart, he felt her loss, never-ending sorrows,
dawn would come, priest would take his last confession, yet Hope remained.
For Silent One's, eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
Thirty Eight ( Corny Cancer Poem) For Sharon
Hallmark has a million cards in their catalog
And not one of them says,
American greetings had nothing that says
Thirty-eight and Never coming home
So I hope it’s not too late to write this poem
After your eighth round of Chemo,
The Doctor says the best medicine is prayer
Any Pre-med drop out
Or High school Health student
Can interpret what this means
But it still just isn’t fair-
Still who am I to be a pessimist?
And I apologize for screaming at your surgeons
(Telling them to stop comparing
your tumors to fruit)
For telling them you aren’t a damn fruit stand
Even for tossing those fruit diagrams
In the Hazmat can
Sorry if I let things get out of hand
Tomorrow they get to pull out
Their zapper instruments
And shoot at your cells like you are
One of those Nintendo video games
Over and over again
And I get to sit in the waiting room
Hoping the red cells surrender
And the white ones win
And Tylenol has a zillion dollars
And can’t even find a cure for cancer
Bayer pharmaceuticals has no answer
And if you die at thirty-eight
I’ll probably boycott Tylenol
For the next twenty-three years
Advil for the next twenty-two
Blaming both of them
For not saving you
Forty calls to Bayer pharmaceuticals
And not a single one returned
What kind of heroes are they
When they aren’t even concerned?
And I’m pissed off at Obama
And Dr. Phil and Oprah too
And all Nationally syndicated talk show host
Who are talking about who slept with who
When they should be talking about
I’m also ticked at a thousand Nazis
And twenty millions gangbangers
And eight-hundred serial killers
Who have working organs
When all you need is just one-
Still I know you wouldn’t even accept it
Even if there was a law that said you could
And you would say something corny like
God loves bad people as much
As he does the good
And i wish i could snatch
half of my lymph nodes
And give them to you
But no Doctor would approve the surgery
So what else can i do
Except write this silly poem for you
except watch you lose weight and hair
And listen to doctors suggest prayer
And more chemo only means
More Hallmark moments at the hospital
And more crying, more dying
More doctors and chaplains lying
But mostly I’ll never get to figure out
How it took you thirty minutes
At Build-A-Yogurt in the mall
And they only had six flavors-
Even after I told you
Chocolate Coconut Sprinkle
Was really the best of all
Tonight your children get to sleep in your bed
And pretend You’re coming home
And I get to cry for them and finish
This corny cancer poems
Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2015
When pain hits hard, you might feel like your soul
is bleeding out, but there’s no blood to see.
Your body is the part that takes the toll,
and physically you feel agony.
Perhaps the pain goes to your heart as though
a knife has sliced right through it, or you feel
it in your gut as if you took a blow.
No cut or bruise is shown, yet it is real!
When both the body and the spirit seem
to reach their limit, tears are overdue.
You have to let those tears go! Let them stream
and carry out the bitterness for you.
An empty tissue box becomes the sign
that soon, and hopefully, you will be fine.
Checked with howmanysyllables.com
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
Screaming at the Sky
Mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky
holding their heads helplessly as they cry
pitiful tears for innocent, defenseless children slaughtered
in fatal cross fires, deadly drug wars
drive-by shootings, and cases of mistaken identity
on blood-splattered streets, senseless endless violence; but
who really gives a damn, only grief-stricken
mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky.
(Form – Enjambment posted as Verse – 8 lines with 7 words in each line.
The 1st line and the 8th line are the same)
Contest: 8 Lines 7 words ~ First and Last Line Must be the Same
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014
Listen to poem:
an impression of the world
stands before me
Left is right, and right is wrong,
and the mirror reflects a melancholy song.
i the mirror
the babbling brook,
the rippled river
whose images tell harmless lies.
who was once held in the
weak, shivering, hands of a life nearing its end
on broken, crushed bones, crumbs
one thousand shards
the jaded moments of my life.
an unintended semblance in the raging waters
crashing against the killing rocks of the rushing falls.
never utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"
the serpent swallows the swollen cow,
swallowed - the farmer's wife,
swallowed - her son,
swallowed - the thorny toad,
the black widow spider devours them all!
i the empty frame
the bits and bites of carpenter ants.
a perverse facade
what should of been
NEVER utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"
will bring me peace,
will deliver me,
burn my body whole
dig me a deep hole
throw me void of soul
the waters of the screaming ocean
who herself dies a slow painful death.
Dec 20 2015
with a major contribution by
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
With every breath I take my body aches,
When I lie in bed I feel my insides hurting.
With every reminder brings me pain.
No more can I find comfort in my home,
The cries of babies stains my mind.
I'm trying my best,
But of course from day to day hour to hour,
I find myself crying.
Memories that morning come to me every day,
Nurses surrounding me my doctor getting on her knees,
Her head looking down,
The thoughts that ran through my mind.
My life entering a new course,
One full of grieving.
He had my face,
My son, my beautiful angel.
He's watching me now,
He left me in tears but he is in my heart.
Copyright © Royal Ninja | Year Posted 2013
a warm summer breeze blew you into our lives
we knew not from whence you came
your flight was delicate, your colors vibrant
we were enamored by your fanciful ways
flitting hither and yon on a freedom from care-
O how we wept over your broken wing
alas, 'twas not the season for healing
darkness overcame and then you were gone
we beheld your winsome dance no more
'twas a warm summer wind that brought you here
'twas a cold winter chill that took you away
in the autumn of your life you bade goodbye
how we long once more for the summertime
we will enjoy sweet society in the garden of God
the night will make us afraid no more
we will delight in your presence
we will sing together the psalms of Jah
we will bask in the glorious light of life
you made our lives better, brighter
you taught us how to laugh, how to love
you are gone for but a moment in time
so until we meet again, sweet butterfly,
we bid you adieu
adieu, my love
Copyright © July Morning | Year Posted 2018
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
They walk silently along my hallways.
Floors littered with faded finery.
Do you remember my Granduer?
I had once been called the Queen of the sea.
Pulled down to the ocean's floor.
Swaying silently, so many sad souls
They are entombed here
Forever a part of me
Left to wander my halls
Sharing this watery hell
Faces frozen in skeletal grins
Evidence of our eternal sadness
Fish now swim across my stage
The band is silent
Still I remember
I absorbed them note by note
They played till my last moment
Yet it was not for my benefit
For I had betrayed them
My promises were empty
Temptation, travel, time together
Some mercifuly escaped
What did they remember of me?
Some came back in ghostly form
Searching for those I had taken from them
I will not release them
For I do not wish to be alone.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
I have a pain so profound that I cannot name it.
I try to ignore it, but I’m forced to claim it.
It’s a gut wrenching sorrow that only grows
An affliction that absolute misery knows
There’s dejection in every breath that I take
And torment controls every move that I make
Love has abandoned me and pulverized my heart
Faith has done nothing but tear me apart.
My spirit is faded and my soul has turned bleak
I am forsaken by God and all that I seek
Despair has taken over my wretched being,
And blessings are something I’m not believing
My essence is distressed by everything that is
I’m demagnetized by all that the universe gives
It’s an existence of oppression on every plane
Like being institutionalized when you’re not insane
It’s a anguish so powerful my whole body will cry
A ruthless torture that begs my very being to die.
Inspired by Rokeyai Hassen's (It Feels) Like: This Too Shall Pass (Now on PoetrySoup)
Copyright © Kim Hilliker | Year Posted 2010
These scars on my soul are beautiful and painful,
Deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes;
The sorrow I keep within me is dreadful,
My short life has been full of death and whys.
Deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes,
I thought the passage of time would heal the scars;
My short life has been full of death and whys,
At night all my beloved are the sparkling stars.
I thought the passage of time would heal the scars,
I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies;
At night my beloved are the sparkling stars,
My forever grief is full of long past sweet reveries.
I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies,
Weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone;
My forever grief is full of long past reveries,
Within my soul the forever sorrow still moans.
Weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone,
Yet from this pain something beautiful was to be;
Within my soul the forever sorrows still moan,
And I write from a scarred soul my sad poetry.
Yet from this pain something beautiful was to be,
The sorrow I keep within me is dreadful;
And I write from a scarred soul my poetry,
These scars on my soul are beautiful and painful.
December 12, 2015
Copyright Protected, ID 18-7355-65-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Favorite Rhyming Poem Ever
Sponsor, Laura Loo
Submitted to the contest, Your Personal Favorite Poem, Ironik, Third Place
Submitted to the contest, Your Absolute Best, The Seeker, Fourth Place
Submitted to the contest, A Poem You Are Proud OF, Skat, Fourth Place
Submitted to the contest, Favorite, sponsor, Casarah Nance, First Place
Submitted to the contest, Best Old Poem, sponsor, Judy Konos, First Place
Featured poem on Arthur Vaso's poetry site, 2016
Put to music, 2015
Poem Of The Day, December 17, 2015
Copyright © Broken Wings- Dear Heart | Year Posted 2015
Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green.
A maple crib stands in the corner.
It's a picture perfect scene.
There is only one thing missing
in this room so perfectly designed.
The baby was never to take a breath.
You have to wonder what God had in mind.
Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
live behind an ever closed door.
To look at the would-be parents
you couldn't tell who was grieving more.
Not all plans have happy endings;
some endings never seem to end.
How much sadness can two people take
before they break instead of bend.
Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green
in a room now shrouded in sadness
where no child will ever be seen.
~~~ 03/01/2013 ~~~
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013
I do not always stay on top of the mountain
The room is empty, tears produce no sound
The silence answered with deep thoughts
Grief feels like to drown in the depths of darkness
In my quietest and lonely moments
As the black chords in a sad play
- Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
- Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
I was wiping the dust off an old snow globe in the upstairs attic, when a mop of honey-blonde hair suddenly appeared through the wooden flooring.
"I thought I'd find you here," said the voice, warm and feminine. It was a lovely contrast to the thoughts that bloomed inside my head. The little red Santa smiling gaily, his gloved hand forever frozen in a wave. Truth be told it was over a hundred degrees outside, and up here in this cobweb-ridden place (by God) was practically unbearable.
But as I lightly shook the fragile keepsake I found myself dashing through the snow like I once did so many years ago. I heard the sound of high pitched laughter from afar, out in the sultry day (most likely the neighbor kids playing tag through a sprinkler-soaked lawn). But there, at that precise moment, I was taking the road before me, and singing a chorus or two.
"You miss him don't ya?" the voice broke me out of my thoughts, and for a moment I just stared at her as if she had a left over piece of spinach in her teeth. I nodded quietly in the silence and rubbed the smooth curvature of the glass with my thumb. It somehow felt cold, as if winter wonderland was still trapped inside.
I knew I hadn't stayed too long, though I knew my wife would be patient throughout this ordeal, however long it took. She didn't need to recite any famous sayings to pick me up, just her being there was enough. It was the unspoken truth between us, and it was always enough.
"Cody and Angie will be downstairs when you're ready to head out."
"I'm ready now. I was just doing a little cleaning up." It wasn't quite a lie. It was one of those statements we use to say one thing and mean the other. The attic was "okay", but I knew of more dire things in need of some organization.
Beth went down the ladder first, naturally. Then it was me, a bit awkwardly, still holding the snow globe. We both came into the living room, where our children sat waiting. Cody was playing some handheld video-game in his Hawaiian swimming trunks. Angie was quietly giggling at something her friend said, via text. Her blue bathing suit was barely more than a strap, and I knew I was this close from losing it. But this was a happy day, so I let it slide, just this once.
"Are you still not ready?" asked Angie.
I looked down at my blue work jeans and buttoned-up t-shirt. My wife gave her a fierce look, as if willing her to take back what she said. It didn't really matter though ... my emotions were spent.
"I was gonna change when we got there," I said, a bit defeated.
"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and plopped her phone right there on the couch. I just stood there like a lifeless statue, while my family got everything ready to head to the local pool. My wife was as patient as a snail, but the kids bustled about as if they've been down here a lifetime. Cody was mad when Beth took the game-boy from his hand, just before some big important checkpoint. Angie was calling Beth completely unfair for not letting her invite Tom over to come swim as well. My wife told her, "This is a family event, no exceptions, and for Pete's sake, listen to me for just this once!"
I just stood there, in quiet grief. Their voices were mere sounds, plastic and surreal, and I went along with it as if everything was alright. But it wasn't alright. The world was falling apart all around me, miraculously still turning, and I just stood there! Finally I reached for the doorknob, when I realized I still had the snow globe in my hand.
I looked at it longingly, with affection, and it came to me. A slightly crazy idea. Not the kind where it's life or death, but the fact that it was a spur of the moment decision, it felt totally crazy. I placed the snow globe on the mantel above the fireplace, where the glass caught the sun just right and the jolly Santa shone a brilliant red.
Allow me this simple pleasure, I asked God in silence. Let the neighbors gawk and smirk all they want. Let the kids think their father's going senile, thinking it's December and not August. I didn't care. I just watched the little flakes twinkle through out the water-filled dome.
I displayed it proudly, knowing that good will, kindness and love were never out of season. So I picked myself up out of my gloomy state, got inside the car, and slid into the driver's seat. "Alright, let's go!" I said cheerfully, and everyone looked surprised.
"Dad, is everything … okay?" asked Cody, from behind. But no answer was necessary. I just smiled, and looked across at Beth without a care in the world.
And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue #3
NOTE: I've written a few short stories, but this one is special to me. It was well received by my family, and I was so excited to discover it was accepted by a magazine. It was my first non-poem to be published.
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
I walk upon a green feathered hilltop
To find your soul, I lost long ago
Lay flowers where your grave says stop
and sit in silence till' the sun is low
I'll bow my head in search for loneliness
With hands trembling cradle tears that fall
And feel the sadness of emptiness,
while listening for the unanswered call
There is no time pain's loss can quell
No answer to quiet the question why
Life moves on and there is only hell
Searching for you, lost, my eyes still cry
I'll claim no noble dignity or deed
Find nothing alone on this hill, but need
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014
Laughter drifts through the house, ....it has been such a while
Debate filters in, from the kids in the kitchen
The rafters are rattled with two strong opinions
Girls against boys, with opposing positions
I've watched them shuffle their cards and argue who won,
They seem to be lost, in the light masquerade,
of bittersweet happiness that is dim from the gray
Dipping their chips into onion laced cream
smacking their lips, and drinking their cokes
They are betting a few of the red plastic discs,
that will ante' this round
...I listen, and smile, it's a beautiful sound, ...
So long overdue,.......
we are embracing the mood... and it is time that we do....
Now a new game ensues.....
Monopoly, perhaps? Or charades, they will play
Whatever it is, ........ let it fill up the day
Let it take them away,....away from the gray
I let up the shade
to watch the evening come in, bringing umber and rust,
as earth swallows dusk, which is fading away
From the living room window, I am hoping to see
geese flying back to their warm winter homes
All nature seems normal, routine, once again
Winter is coming and a new year begins
How will it be now, this journey, untried,?
As we move on, wearing smiles, wearing grief on our sleeves
Smiles, for awhile, hiding anguish, and pride
Cold days are arriving......and there is talk on the hill
where tall pine trees are whispering,
reminding the creek, and the ash trees are shedding
and katydids will not call out condolences in the dark
Soon enough, when the lark sings, wet grass will need tending
stacks of shutters will need painting,
and snow will yet need to be pushed aside
How will they cope..?
He's not here to do it...but somehow we hope
they will wade their way through it..
But for now , at a kitchen table
for these brief moments, they are able
to laugh, argue, and have fun...
Someone shouts out, "I won!"..
Joy is hard work...but it needs to be done
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013