To a sorrowful one
I have known and seen a woman, one who hangs at the precipice of grief. I have experienced the agony of she who has been deprived of all she had, the light of the day. At her closed mouth waits gallons of water, for the door on her clenched teeth to open and the guests to flow in, to sear her tongue and cool her burning lungs. She can taste them all, the nails, blades and cans. They celebrated her birth with wreaths, and when she died, they brought roses to her own yard. She wants to bow, but her knees refuse to give way. She wants to lie on the ground in remorse but sir, her waist refuses to bend. Oh she breaks my heart, every day when she hugs the headstone and mumbles the epitaph to herself. I see her by the grave every day, mumbling to her past daughter, weaving the grasses like she did her hair. She pampers the headstone just as she did her little one’s bony structure. She lies by the cold marble just like she did when her little one went to her room to escape the bogey under her little bed. I have seen demons follow the woman. They took away her smile and blessed her with the gift of grief and sorrow. They took away her life and anointed her with the strong scent of death and perennial torture. Oh you that hail from Hades, owners of all that is vile and bad, I command you, let her be. Why have you followed her up here, where light lies subdued? She rejects thee. But why does she whisper and not shout? Why does she beg and not pray? Let her be, but why does she not resist? I exorcise thee, dark of the night. Go back to where you came from. Light of day, it is thee I conjure. Where is the sun when you need it to shine? Where are the stars when you need them to glow? She craves hope but oh, the cup of despair overflows again. If I could give peace, I would have given my whole piece, but she seems so at home with her goblet of grief. She seems to like the choicest from that platter full of sadness. I want to pray, make me bow. I want to call, make me beg. She hungers lord, for a miracle. Take that cup away from her, lest she chokes with the drink. Take away the baggage, before her knees buckle and she tumbles to the ground. But let you wait, till she gets rid of her clothes of mourning. Stay and watch a little longer, to see if it shall dawn on her yard. Keep vigil and see whether she shall rebound, but please, let her know that all she has to do is spin a cocoon and transform into a butterfly. Let her know that after every dark night is a glorious day. Shoo, away with you pesky creatures of darkness, for alas, the clouds are starting to part.
I have known and seen a woman, one who hangs at the precipice of grief. I have experienced the agony of she who has been deprived of all she had, the light of the day. At her closed mouth waits gallons of water, for the door on her clenched teeth to open and the guests to flow in, to sear her tongue and cool her burning lungs. She can taste them all, the nails, blades and cans. They celebrated her birth with wreaths, and when she died, they brought roses to her own yard. She wants to bow, but her knees refuse to give way. She wants to lie on the ground in remorse but sir, her waist refuses to bend. Oh she breaks my heart, every day when she hugs the headstone and mumbles the epitaph to herself. I see her by the grave every day, mumbling to her past daughter, weaving the grasses like she did her hair. She pampers the headstone just as she did her little one’s bony structure. She lies by the cold marble just like she did when her little one went to her room to escape the bogey under her little bed. I have seen demons follow the woman. They took away her smile and blessed her with the gift of grief and sorrow. They took away her life and anointed her with the strong scent of death and perennial torture. Oh you that hail from Hades, owners of all that is vile and bad, I command you, let her be. Why have you followed her up here, where light lies subdued? She rejects thee. But why does she whisper and not shout? Why does she beg and not pray? Let her be, but why does she not resist? I exorcise thee, dark of the night. Go back to where you came from. Light of day, it is thee I conjure. Where is the sun when you need it to shine? Where are the stars when you need them to glow? She craves hope but oh, the cup of despair overflows again. If I could give peace, I would have given my whole piece, but she seems so at home with her goblet of grief. She seems to like the choicest from that platter full of sadness. I want to pray, make me bow. I want to call, make me beg. She hungers lord, for a miracle. Take that cup away from her, lest she chokes with the drink. Take away the baggage, before her knees buckle and she tumbles to the ground. But let you wait, till she gets rid of her clothes of mourning. Stay and watch a little longer, to see if it shall dawn on her yard. Keep vigil and see whether she shall rebound, but please, let her know that all she has to do is spin a cocoon and transform into a butterfly. Let her know that after every dark night is a glorious day. Shoo, away with you pesky creatures of darkness, for alas, the clouds are starting to part.
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