The Giving Cause: Still, I Grieve . . .
I try to give myself grace,
to lend myself peace, but
thoughts of you stir about
in my head during the witching
hours, and I cannot find comfort.
I don’t know it. It doesn’t come
to my aid.
What more could I have done?
What more could I have given?
I am bone-dry and my heart
breaks every time I think of you.
You . . . my father. my love. my light.
I am walking in darkness–the days
are longer–nights are colder.
Do I still have meaning?
Every day without you is
a stab to my heart–salt to
the wound, but I’m trying.
I know if you were here, you’d
guide me in your own little way–
you’d create a path for
my weary feet to follow.
I have to look for peace
from the stars. I have to lure
it in from the moon. I have to
search for it around every corner,
and still, I grieve . . .
I grieve . . . and I wish I didn’t
Thank you to Kim Smyth for allowing me to gift a poem to you. It has helped me too.
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