Monday, December 9, 2013

Still.





I need to be
still
whenever
and however
the thought of that moment surfaces to
unplug my tear ducts
and become ripples of sorrow
tears of regret, until
the soul reaches the
edge of
a brief
understanding
the hint of an acceptance.

The trauma of the minute
repeats itself. My throat tightens
pins me between the eyes
chokes
all thoughts
disturbs all rhythms.

And the clock stops.

7 comments:

  1. Oh, Rosaria. It is a process, isn't it? My warmest wishes to you.

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  2. yes. i imagine so...we need to take time to grieve...to allow those moments to be and to enter them so that we can come out the other side of them...there is no avoiding...

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  3. Oh, dear, Rosaria! Such a plaintive poem. Yes, healing a grief does take a long time.

    Blessings and Bear hugs!

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  4. Submitting to this ... from your poem, it seems that it is submitting to it that brings you to that edge of acceptance. I am sorry to hear this pain for you.

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  5. The thing that has surprised me over the years is the re-cycling back of grief I thought resolved. Hopefully at a deeper level of a spiral rather than a circle.

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  6. It's such a heartfelt poem. I have no words to describe the beauty of it but also the sadness running through it. My warmest regards.

    Greetings from London.

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