Andrew Kelly
Andrew Kelly
3 days ago

“Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?”

I can tell you where,
Drive to the church off of the gray gravel road.

There you will be greeted
By dim witted deacons and the dead.
Parades of pink lily slippers
Masquerades this melancholy sensation.

Surrounded by galleries of gravestones
Belonging to both babies and Baby Boomers.

You can visit.
Surrender your problems to the dirt,
The decaying.

They are dead,
They cannot hear what you are saying.

A poem about visiting my brother's grave.
4 days ago

I can taste the clouds
when our hands are intertwined
and his utterances always linger
but more like euphoria than
a shattered spine.
And I've never spoken to him
a lukewarm truth,
I've never loved him in grey;
We're amateurs,
cradled by caffeine on
Monday mornings,
still learning how flowers
can break through skin
that's mourning.

#love   #truth   #thoughts   #new   #him   #skin   #grey   #monday   #mourning   #mornings  
5 days ago

i am so sorry
about your loss.
i am so sorry
about your heartache.
i am so sorry
about everything.
this is not how a romantic story is supposed to conclude.
i am so sorry
that the doctors couldn't save you.
i am so sorry
that the bed is empty.
i am so sorry
because you were the glue.
i am so sorry
because you were far too optimistic
your heart was too full
your spirit was too high
for everything not to fall
apart around us
in the way that only a death this sudden can -
ripping everything in its path
to shreds -
rippling like a wave
my father crying in an italian restaurant,
kneeling at the edge of the bed and praying
pretending that i do not hear
the crack in my father's voice,
or the shaking grip my mother has on my hand.
if god exists,
i think he's a sadist.

rip stephanie
march 18 2017
Andrew Kelly
Andrew Kelly
5 days ago

I turned ten two days ago.
You were born today,
Yet you will never draw your first breath.

Your lips,
Inherited the reddest hue of cardinal feathers.
Your skin,
Pale and soft like fresh Pennsylvania snow.

I never knew what your eyes looked like,
They never opened.
Infinite iris colors
That will never be discovered.

When I held you in my arms,
The guiding hand of God drifted away.
I gave the coldest of shoulders I suppose,
Dust drifting in the air conditioned delivery room.

I looked outside the hospital window.
The dead leaves fluttered in the bitter wind,
Time stood still that day,
For me, just a little kid.

Mar 11

I saw death,
no angels singing
nor plumes of hades

Energy relaxes
leaving spiritless flesh

No romance,
like that of a grim reaper
or noble feats on a cross

an evaporating mist

I saw death,

no strength I gained
but a feeling of shame

It's strange,
this feeling of immortality


we, the animated skeletons
of humanity

It's simplicity really,
there's no magic in death

#life   #illness   #end   #dark   #away   #mourning   #nurse   #haunted   #hospital   #nursing  

Coming to terms with the unexpected death of a friend is something I unfortunately have a lot of experience with. But maybe i wasnt supposed to get so used to it, because now fate is showing me what it feels like to mourn the living. Ive been blessed with the best of friends with the worst of troubles. Its like watching a faulty light bulb flicker in and out of my life, never staying off. Is this my punishment for becoming numb to the feeling of loss? Or is it the indomitable human spirit gasping for air and refusing to go quietly? These are my trials, lest I allow apathy to consume me. I am a man of persistent love fueled by my own precious fear of death. As long as there is a pulse, I wont stop fighting. I love you and im not leaving.

If my thoughts and dreams can come to life
They'd be brought back in the shape of you
If my love can be a force of nature
It'd be the oxygen pumping through your lungs
It'd be the light in your eyes that once was
If I could have one wish granted
I'd be to have you back
Fearless and breathing

Copyright under Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved
Blah blah blah
#love   #life   #death   #beauty   #mourning  
Mar 1

The marks on the highway don't tell the story
and the scars on the body can't hide the pain

There is no warmth in words tonight;
tomorrow the air is cold with memories of death
and the celebration of a life blurred in tearful rejoicing
and prayers for a soul at peace.

"While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyes shall close in death,
When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold Thee on Thy throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee."

Yesterday a dear friend lost his wife in a car accident.  A witness at the scene held her hand and prayed with her while she died.

"Rock of Ages" Augustus M. Toplady, 1776
#death   #mourning  

"We are the witnesses to how alike all men bleed."
Man our easel, we stretch clean canvas over scarlet brushstrokes,
We work stitchings like guitar strings,
find a melody in the mending,
hide scars like bass, in clean skin,
and hide the pain from each ending.
Their lungs sing.

An alto for death's row,
its sound makes your heart slow.
Let's see what you have inside,
with open eyes, your mother cried,
in toupe-walled rooms, we cut the cord,
no savage mark by a doctor's sword.

Just silence and sadness,
greyness and madness,
long halls and dancers,
small windows and glances.

Do you remember the questions
you used to ask about dying?
About grief and then pain
that wash over you in freezing pales of regret?
Are you supposed to remember every minuscule detail
before you completely forget?

You choke on your own verses
to convince yourself
and then everyone else
about acceptance--
the magic that should lead to recovery
yet, knowing that
most poems
are just lengthy epitaphs
for all the people
we refuse to bury alive;
that most poets die
as they try to relive
faded images,
wishing they could
turn back time.

There is love in lamentation--
in how the living die with the dead;
how years of November air
become the oxygen
that slowly suffocates them,
how the things they love most
create consuming black holes
they still succumb to
long after
their beloved's faux passing.

#love   #poetry   #dying   #death   #loss   #grief   #regrets   #lamentation   #mourning   #epitaphs  
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