Grief is a heavy ocean wave,
That crashes and breaks against my shore.
It lingers, and I am left alone,
As I try to find a way to cope.

The days feel longer, the nights seem darker.
The skies seem greyer, my heart feels heavier.
It's a weight that I can't escape,
And I can't seem to find the strength to cope.

The future feels out of reach,
My joy has been taken away.
I can't seem to appreciate what I have,
My grief won't let me be okay.

1935 - ~ May 4th, 2005
(untimely death sentence ordained ~ early February 1935)

I trot out a poem acknowledging birthday
of dear ole mom, who succumbed,
lost lease on life
nearly two decades ago,
who frequently asked me,
but never received acknowledgement
during her livingsocial years did abjure
(as the sole son)
communicating HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Two hundred Sandhill
Cranes flew by
to decorate the
southbound sky,
to soar,
to flee,
to freely fly
off to a warmer mire.

And as I watched
the sedge move on
from roosts of colts
now so forgone
from nest
to sky,
to freely fly,
my own heart carried higher.

I wondered where
they'd find their stay
through winter's plight
so cold and gray,
to rest,
to stretch,
to freely fly
as nature would aspire.

Tis the season of reflection
To look inward at one's self
Facing holiday demons
Deep cuts hidden behind the elf

Holiday movies run rampant
Tears of sorrow grace my cheek
Realizing what's missing
How I must appear so weak

A home that feels warm
Where celebration isn't a crime
Candles glow from window sills
And giving doesn't have you doing time