Muster up
your seasonal joy
but stare into a void
of empty reserves,
still too raw with loss
to pretend
the absence isn’t always
standing at your back
and breathing
on your neck.
Fiction and poetry writing, recapturing the muse.
Muster up
your seasonal joy
but stare into a void
of empty reserves,
still too raw with loss
to pretend
the absence isn’t always
standing at your back
and breathing
on your neck.
Excitement
getting closer,
but the lack
of anticipation
doesn’t even
alarm you.
You’re just
too tired
to try.
Peace at last
within your deepest fear,
time has changed you
and there’s no going back
to carefree moments
where anything was possible
and you had the optimisn
to believe
in miracles.
A world of darkness
sets a perimeter
of safety,
able to smile
within its walls,
but still you
wander to its edge
time and time
again.
My worth has been written
but no one took the time
to read it,
now they make assumptions
of their own
and I am too hurt
to shove the pages of my story
for them to finally see.
Hear a whisper
in the darkness
and follow
with a reckless longing,
desperate to understand
how to live now
with no sight
and no solid comfort
sheltering your side.
Glimpse
a person’s journey
ahead of yours,
having shared
the same pain.
Now they have found
their happy start,
and the hope for yours
has rekindled.
Jealous of a dog
who can refuse
and pout
and misbehave,
but still be forgiven
and treated
with pampered privilege
and loved unconditionally
by all.
Hope to be surprised
and pressure eased,
burden shared,
but knowing
that’s not likely
and the excuses
keep them stationary
while you
run into exhaustion.
Choke on your smile
of lies,
hiding pain
that keeps bubbling
and breaking through cracks.
Should you give in
and see if the world
comforts you?
See if anyone cares?