The Hidden Jester
Hidden Jester
Grief comes,
in glancing blows
stealing up at tangents -
shards of promise, taut with loss,
might have been, should have been.
Nothing direct or clean;
but sharp cuts and sudden hurts
from shadowed corners.
Strange friend,
thief, despoiler
relying on one saving grace,
one charity of memory, doled out.
Taking more than giving;
a parasite of living;
poisonous flower, spreading
like a weed.
Hidden Jester
laying small traps
that catch you unawares -
the detritus of life, turned enemy
banal weapons that shard the heart
and once you start
you cannot stem the flow
and he has won.
6 comments:
It's hard to describe how these words made me feel: sad, angry and upset don't cover it.
It is a good piece of work though.
Sadly straight from the heart - I am glad it spoke to you.
That's an incredible poem. I can't even say I like it - it almost upset me - but I love it.
"and he has won" . . . no, not yet he hasn't, not while I've breath my love.
Salty
thought this could be about a miscarriage- i'v sent a friend who's lost a child this link. She says its exactly it Thanks
Ciara Whealan
Ciara I am glad it spoke to you, and to your friend.
GMB
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