After all this, what then?
You ask. Another day
To think and feel,
Another time to sense
The emptiness of arms,
The loss of child.
There is no loss like that,
Not in the same sense,
Where part of you has died
Leaving only the empty tomb
Of the weary womb.
You want to turn back the clock,
Want the good times back,
The holding, suckling,
Full arms with baby there feel.
You have plumbed
The depth of loss,
Almost drowned
In the dark waters
Of grief. Yet the world
Goes on, seemingly indifferent
To the loss of others,
Seemingly blind and deaf
To another's sad death.
After all this, what then?
You sigh. A little weeping?
Time set by for grieving?
Time the great healer?
The whole cacophony
Of sayings and wisdoms
And good faiths
Are lost on you.
You want to die each day,
Drown in the deep
Depressing blue.
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Comments: 8
Precautionary perhaps?
Tragic and sad.
Bless the mother(s) you have written this for...excellent.