deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Quiet in the Hall.

I could do with the shut eye
but my eyes won't take the rest
and the best of my suggestion
I cannot digest,
as never before
have I had a child floored in my arms
by a thing I could not justify.
He cried, like a babe,
and I held him
and he was not the only one
in a line which has been strung from one wrist to the other.
A list of traumas we can't cover because we've all had a loss
and this loss has been hard to address.
They suggest that by Monday  
our heads are no longer ' a mess
but I am not sure
that I can promise
that I won't miss the deadline.
There is a dead line running its way through this place
and we face an unseen cruelty that exists in this life -
we can't trace. You see, the children don't know much of death
and there after
and though I know of it  
it's shit.
Tomorrow is for mourning from morning to afternoon
and then soon there'll be booze and a snooze and repeat
but my emotions fleet from tears when I see her
in photos or mementos that don't capture her charm
to numbness.  
I am disarmed by her face, her youth,
her grace
and there is a loss like no other  
that ordains this space.
There is a loss for them all,
with a blonde, tall thing no longer in control.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published | Edited 20th May 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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