grief

Let’s leave the past, to live where it died.

~ ~M ~ 14 Comments

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I keep trying
to forget the past.
To leave all the hurts
buried deep
on that old,
empty road.
The place where
I was deserted,
left choking on remorse.
But everybody
wants answers,
and nobody understands
that I can’t breathe.
And when I’m forced
back on that road,
I can’t heal
or even catch my breath.
The air over there
is stifling.
And so many
broken dreams
are still dangling
in the wind.
I can’t keep
reaching out,
grasping hopelessly
at those lifeless strands.
So please,
I’m begging you,
let’s just leave the past
to live where it died.
Or else this life
won’t be worth living
at all.

© 2020 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/people-woman-walking-hike-trek-2569740/

One Unsympathetic Night

~ ~M ~ 9 Comments

 

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There was a time, long long ago,
when grief consumed and controlled me.
Desperate thoughts and delusions
carpeted the walls of my mind.
And if memory serves me correctly,
it all began one unsympathetic night.

I was lost in empty thought.
Resting quietly,
against the old familiar comforts,
which only a saggy, depleted featherbed can give.

But powdered blue notions,
ran rampant that eve,
spinning a trap, right in front of my eyes.
And nothing could have prepared me
for the ambush; I was about to face.

Typically, I have always been on the offensive,
but that night, I was taken by complete surprise.
It seemed as if a tornado,
one filled with erratic and overemotional thoughts,
had somehow landed on top of me.

I felt my chest tighten,
surrounded by every last unfortunate thought I’d ever had.
Even the cuckoo down the hall
seemed to chime a little less enthusiastically
as I wrestled with my mind.

Every hope, wish, dream,
seemed to vanish into thin air.
I was left nauseated by midnight blue reflections,
and I laid there motionless,
desperately waiting for dawn to arrive.

At first light, I knew something was still terribly off.
I became temporarily crippled,
the fear of ignorance—all-consuming.
The overwhelming feelings,
ones comprised of dolor and distress,
clung to the recesses of my troubled heart.
I was quite literally suffocating,
in-between swells of uncertainty.

It wasn’t long before mama came looking for me.
I must’ve had the look of death itself,
as the light in her eyes
grew instantaneously dim.

Mama worked to make sense of my sickly state,
and I tried to give her all that remained of my spirit.
But my half-smile looked more like a frown,
and there was just no way of deflecting
all the worry situated in her gaze.

I knew right then and there;
mama had recognized my face as her very own.
It seemed the dispiritedness in our humble abode
had finally caused the undulating waters to reach me.

As I now reminisce,
recalling the details of that one unsympathetic night,
I realize just how long it’s taken for the floodwaters to recede.
And even though the waves have since quieted,
I am still not the same girl I once was.

© 2020 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/sleep-bed-sheets-covers-comforter-839358/

 

Now the winter shivers

~ ~M ~ 18 Comments

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Now the winter shivers
In this barren land.
Near and far the echoes
Without a welcome hand.

Now the winter clamors
As naysayers pave the way.
The vile commence each battle
What more is there to say.

Dimmer than the most atrocious
On the crowning of darkest night.
Sure-footed soldiers march into battle
Prepared for one more fight.

The world lies in anguish
No longer praying for relief.
Smack dab in the pit of sorrow
Buried in inescapable grief.

© 2019 Michelle Cook

The rhyme and meter of this poem, were inspired by the poetic works of Edna St. Vincent Millay, who wrote “Autumn Chant,” which can be found here.

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/kz-kz-dachau-konzentrationslager-2063339/

 

Words

~ ~M ~ 16 Comments

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Words
I wrestle with them.
Some are just worth fighting for.

And even one good word can make life worth living — bringing hope to a day, which might otherwise be dark and dismal.

But a bad word can be so disheartening — often reminds me of a rosebud that wilts before it ever has the chance to bloom.

If only our words could always be like rainbows,
we’d never have to feel so gray.

© 2019 Michelle Cook

Customary Norms

~ ~M ~ 9 Comments

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Love
Can be fleeting
Often feels
Defeating

Loss
It’s my win
And yet still
I give in

Grief
Lasts forever
When never
Is your together

Life
I get by
Always saying
Goodbye

© 2019 Michelle Cook