There is more to the death of the loved than I thought.
There's an absence of the person you were with them,
And the feel of those intricate chemical responses
to your familiar rhythm of conversation.
The loss of comfortably not planning activities
As you know you and you know them
and everyone knows what you usually do together
and how long it takes.
There is lastly, and most potent of the bunch,
a need to find comfort
in the loss of them.
Religion, Drinking, and Denial.
I think that it is odd we spend our lives
on leaning couches, therapists by our side,
when all the best comforters were the ones in tall
and squeaking beds on wheels.
Each a soon and likely graduate
their PHD in Death.
As we stand or sit
or cry quietly in the comfort seat.
All the while they lay
Praying, Planning, and Comforting
the living that live on.
Persephone had run long in jest and merriment only to find a crueler and denser forest, most barren and lacking. Exhaustion stemmed her skill for growth and this prompted her to proclaim aloud:
“Any plant would I grant a lineage of a greatness unto should only my hunger be satisfied this day. I am the Goddess Persephone. I ring my words true. Growth is my specialty and planting my hue.”
Having spoken not long the trees began to strain, grass growing fuller, and bushes dense, no refrain. But one unbecoming vine of many purple grapes took heart and strained the most all abandonment of traipse.
So soon as it started it all seemed to cease there were flowers all round and fruits without crease. Persephone looked about and decided most quick, which of the many that she was to pick. Single was the fruit but largest by far it was crimson in color and yielded no mar. It had come from the lowest of all, yes a vine, but in all of its efforts created something divine.
Reaching to the ground and snapping it’s stem Persephone ask aloud what the fruit would be then and the grapevine responded with a joyous such sound but not with a name for that thing red and round. So Persephone continued and lifted it loft that all the earth know that this fruit’s never scoffed.
She then cracked it in half and held part to her lips but underneath her feet rose from a rose from the crypts. “Blessed be Gaia!” Persephone proclaimed. “She too sees the value that this fruit now be named!” So the tree’s round the forest got to creaking along, to give it a name for the vine was not strong. “I think that we have it, yes that will just do. This is a Pomegranate I behold unto you.” But soon as she’d spoken the ground tore apart along side the hope of the grapevines dear heart.
Swallowed by chasm and taken on chariots edge Persephone dropped the fruit along a crevasses hedge. But the vine hadn’t known, for it had not the eyes. And so it began to covet and also to despise those God’s in the heavens that speak nothing but lies. It built up a single and solemn such sound to be heard by the world, respected and renowned. And such was the plea, most of malice and spite, born to the world instead of the hoped child bright:
“If I must wither let it be now known that in death I curse a God to a death as I’ve shown.” And the mother plant did wither and die on that day knowing not of the role that its seed would then play. So here begins the tale of the death of a man who arose to the top in such as no other can. The earth is so ruled by the light it is shown and bleeds out of spite till the tempter’s overthrown.
There are things I've encountered
that are so unalike anything
I've experienced in any way before
and yet I've found consistent comfort in them.
The unfamiliar twist of a tale
or the grip of a wanting child.
The sound of a strangers verbalized woes
and feel of counting 10 toddler toes.
The scent of new restaurants
and sound of a crowd below tall buildings.
The gushing tumult of an idea
and look of something that feels like me.
The feel of lovers lips,
lightly lifted in laughter
and taste of anything with cream.
Mom looks at prices
The post office boxes
Where to send me
Not a state of being still but one of contentment and growth.
Can things without life
for just a moment
be seen as smaller parts
of the human experience in that they are all part
of one big something?
And if you can imagine it
can you also see her's, him's,
they's, them's, those, and all these people
and if not forgive
is essential? All my anguish and petty thoughts aside,
this is how I still love her.
There's a flower in the river
A flower in the sand
A flower in the dirt
and one on high land.
All of them have beauty
And each took time to grow
And everyone is different
And that's okay to know.
Compact the doors that guard your eyes
release relentless uncertainty.
Take a moment for the tones of intention
but also a single drag of inspiration.
Overcrowd each, every,
void with possibility not short or few.
And see the world, its all anew
to you who changed the sullen view.
Animosity struck home.
It didn’t take long to understand.
She was the girl next door
and I the taker of his fancy.
Sitting in the dark
its now she's made her mark
a sleepy head got out of bed
and left us all
our hearts to shred.