Sunday, 13 September 2020

No help at all

 


At least the roses bloomed

As I tried to overcome

The sadness in losing her

And the Moon was no help

Grinning like a loon in the sky

So I reflected on the past

The present was no help at all


And did their kind words help?

Time will heal your words they said

As if I wanted that at all

With a sad wrinkled face

With the loss of Joy from my life

This causing me to tense right up

Flexing my muscles with such despair


Image found at www.shutterstock.com



2 comments:

  1. Every once in a (great) while, I try to picture myself in a Post-My Beloved Sandra universe; but I freak out & can't bring myself to the poem.

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  2. I would think that instead of healing, you go on with your life, but carry the wound with you.

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