Poetry

02-10-2021

Pain

Sometimes the pain 
still physically hurts
my heart is not the same
since life changed
since you are gone.

Instead of love
I have pain
for my companion,
and wonder, how can this be?

Days turned to weeks
weeks to months
I want to stop time
to stop the world from turning
'cause every turn
moves me farther away
from the times you were here
broadens the gap
stretches the distance
deepens the loss
when instead some think
time makes things better.

But I know grief
and can testify.
It is not time 
that heals all wounds
but love.

And love is what makes
the death of a mother
so deep
so piercing
so great.

Grateful.
So thankful 
to have known that love:
unselfish
cherishing
strengthening
unconditional
proud

And when it is gone,
you wonder how 
you can possibly exist
without it
or ...
if you want to.

No. At many times the answer is
no. I do not.
Yet exist, I must
and more - to thrive.

To live a life worthy
of the love.
To be what she worked for
what she gave for
I must somehow overcome.
I must go on.

Though the pain is present
though it pierces, 
wounds
and persists
I must outlast it
or make peace somehow
with it.

Pain,
my companion.

I have often, too boldy claimed
"I am good with pain!"
In childbirth
in broken bones
I am.

But the deep heart pain -
so real I can feel it
so stubborn
it refuses to lose
the arm-wrestle of our friction
this pain contends.

Days upon weeks upon months
nevertheless,
I will go on

For she knew pain
and did not give up.

The legacy before her
The women of valor
ever strong in faith
knew immense grief.

The loss of a son, a boy
the loss of a man, too soon
the scar of leaving homeland
the hurt of rejection
of immigration, of humility
They pressed on.

And as they live in me,
so their faith lives,
and so will I.







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