Tag Archives: loss

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Forty-One

the pain is not sweet.
it festers and.
winter is coming.
too many mistakes.
no waking from the nightmare.
try to continue but.
all feels lost and.
decay sets in.
no longer myself.
can’t move forward.
can’t go back.

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Thirty-Nine

I would hide entirely.
but I do not have the means.
I would end and have it done.
but I can’t erase the seams.

not sure why to live.
not sure how to die.
try to go on desperately.
try to face my lies.

I will face the madness.
play the beggar’s part.
accept the loss of perfect love.
my devils pulled apart.

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Twenty-One

another anniversary of an end.
you know, I think I.
threw the ring on the eighteenth too.
and we started then, I.
was joking when I said.
there was no memory.
eighteen is not my number.
the worst age that happened to me.
maybe I’ve been lost since.
like all bad luck, it keeps.
popping up–ages don’t have heads.
to rear ugly and frightening.
around the turn of days.

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Eighteen

forget it.
not the same.
not different in.
any good way.
too many obstacles.
too much heartache.
too sick to dream.
flail and no answers.
come, cannot explain.
weather fixates, then.
flits again, confused.
no balance here.

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and One

can’t use my conditioner.
without thinking of you.

a haunting.
suppose it’s the right time of year.

the last place became unbearable.
you were everywhere.

here, it is more a flashback.
constant highlights of dawn.

moving on, the steps are heavy.
not too proud to beg, but it is futile.

memory shudders and stirs.
one barely sane day to the next.

this shelter is cold.
empty of your words.

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred

a cup.
speckled periwinkle.
atop dark blue.
fake enamel.
cheap ceramic.
ten years old.
two dollars.
at good stuff cheap.
daddy loved that store.
handle cracked, replaced.
more than once.
two chips missing.
the rim not to be whole again.
the circle is broken.
a slice fell out once.
the lines are clear.
stained black with coffee and tea.

365 Days of Poetry: Day Two-Hundred and Ninety-Three

The mockingbird keens. Remorse, remorse. Things cannot come back. Let go, let go. They will not return from the trash, they cannnot remain in the matter. Repent, repent. It was too far and change is permanent. The end, the end. This is life now, shifting, gathering, drudgery of the flesh. Remorse, remorse. Come back, come back.

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