There is a distinct silence to grief,
as if a million stars —
the fallen and collapsing —
catch in the throat,
a swollen cosmic mass
that quiets the unspoken,
unfinished
and unanswered,
There, swirling, all of the light……….gone
Nothing but stale words stuck
to the roof of your mouth,
trite and of no use to any poet
she, wondering, Why speak at all?
Awww. Painful, but well-written. And a lovely picture!
M
Thanks, love. xoxo
Isn’t the photo divine?