Grief
This was a poem that seemed to jump into existence. What I write is not gloomy stuff, although I fully acknowledge and even appreciate the role of gloom in a life, so it's not too surprising a topic. I didn't write it for any particular occasion or for any particular relationship between people, it is quite generic. I decided to post it today mainly as in the UK it is Mother's Day and the sort of day that can highlight a loss. (My own mother is entirely well and full of news regarding loft insulation, and, of course, the vagaries of weather.) This Beast What is it, that I am being told? You are here, I know you are. This beast, my grief At my heels anytime Shifts weight, changes shape I will not acknowledge it Why should I acknowledge it: I can carry on as usual, nothing Can change, if we do not look If we do not look or speak of it Roll into intolerance Roll, rage, and the more It makes no difference: rage Why is thi