Dreamworld

To think you can
prepare for grief,
such rawness of
eternal pain,
is folly.

It is a splinter,
crippling all in its path;
collapsing worlds in on themselves;
burning away
at what keeps us human
until we are not,
and,
like a woman scorned,
will not heal
will not fade away
will not be consoled.

Loss results,
not in mere tears,
but fear.
Paranoia, vulnerability, guilt –
a martyr’s store of emotion.
Emotions
so out-of-keeping
with the quotidian that they are
too real
to be felt.

Time may delude herself that
by passage alone
she salvages hearts, but,
sadly, is mistaken.
Humans were created not
for such protracted
suffering –
dealing only in the basic.
So we face
a simple matter of survival:
we let go, or
we wither.

Or we stumble

love-blindly

out of one day
and into the next
going in circles.

Going nowhere.