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Literature
Forgive This Grief (Miscarriage)
My arms are weighted with her space,
a heaviness that won't compare--
her toes, her smile, her tiny face,
and the imagined white-blonde hair;
forgive this mother's grief for stolen dreams
and let alone these tears that stream.
Forgive this mother's grief,
forgive this mother's grief,
remember things aren't always what they seem.
I know it's wrong to yearn for them,
but those moments when you despair
would give to me what was unsent--
a life of burdens I wish I could wear.
Forgive this jealous heart that wants to share
the grumpy shouts, the unmade beds you bear.
Forgive this jealous heart,
forgive this jealous heart,
remember it's 'bout her,
Literature
fabled life
i.
she talks through her wrinkles,
'i have no desire for food', she says.
i take her plate to the kitchen
noticing how the beetroot shavings bled into the skin of the chicken and brown rice.
it was blood, skin, and bone,
and the rice was a million starlike cells floating between.
this reminds me of my anatomy textbook:
we've been learning what's beneath our skin,
we learned that all cells divide. some cells often don't stop dividing.
other cells divide and stop when they should...
but not my grandmother's.
starlike, they explode, they shatter, they consume
they divide.
ii.
i want to be mad at my grandmother's cells,
but what would that do?
i
Literature
You Will Not Read This
When a writer puts his soul and passion into his work.
It will go unnoticed, often because of its length.
It is a rather sad fact, but a truth nonetheless.
For the simple emotions conveyed in just a few words,
Often hold more sway with those who are emotionally swayed.
There is no depth of the heart, nor a single thought spared.
For the effort placed into a piece that forgoes the winning edge,
For a hint of true meaning.
You will not read this piece and I will not expect you to.
It will not be popular or famous, nor will it see the light of day.
For length is the bane of true poetry,
And that is why so many of my kin have already l
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Maybe this is what we do day to day. We search threw an endless maze filled with distractions and self deceit hoping to find true moments of enlightenment. We crave it and hunger for it relying on outside stimuli to spark inner revolution. There comes a time when one reaches the point where they give up control and let go of the lies they tell themselves. No outside stimuli can bring you inner peace, you must find that on your own and mirror that in the world around you.
Obviously the character speaking here does not belong to me. Just the letter.
Obviously the character speaking here does not belong to me. Just the letter.
Mature
© 2014 - 2024 DenNami
Comments77
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This is good.