There are Days


There are times
there are days
when the grief doesn't press so hard
when my skeleton holds itself together and I can push against the yoke
when you speak and your words bring peace.

But always comes tomorrow
with the remembrance of you
and again I sink.
The harpies circle and scream around my ears;
the emptiness of the black hole echoes in my heart
I am poured out like water
my joints crack and waver
my breath comes weighted
and my mind flows like lead.

In that moment I would cut off my right hand to go back to my innocence,
never to wonder or suspect,
to never need to ask.
I would give my eyes to not have seen, and my mind to not have questioned.
But I saw, and wondered, and asked, and the plain was cracked.
Now we walk two paths, two golden children, north and south.
The river flows between.

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