His Grief
Is it any wonder
that December is quite cold?
all the warmth and humanity
winding down to go
all of Autumns paper bones
buried beneath canopies of snow
Here I go
emotionally old
trying to fathom
this latest blow
I want to wrestle Death
always short of breath
with a cloaked body
and icy gripped fingers
a frosted disposition
that somehow just lingers
Cover Him with spittle
belittle his very name
drag him through the dirt
into a world
of hurt and shame
He doesn't have a companion
nor do I,
just a Northern wind quite bold
racing across the skies
Saying whispered prayers
is Anyone there?
if given an answer
the outcomes never fair
and no, that is not 'Life'
a cop out not quite right
wrapped in grief so tight
bereft and adrift
in the darkest night
never to forget
your goodness and light
mathiasthom
written 12/23/10
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