An abandoned cathedral
where I drag my soul to repent for my
𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨.
A lady appears in a wedding gown-
I feel like I am 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚 again.
Her dress turns 𝙧𝙚𝙙. She turns her head—
and wicked reads her eyes.
I face my fear and go too near to find that she’s gone 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙙.
She disappears and then appears a puny  𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬-𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙡.
It chases me, I trip, I fall, they drag me to a hall.

“𝘕𝘰! 𝘔𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴!”

I wake up-
deep breath & sweat.
I wonder of what it meant…
To dream of
𝙢𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙩.

Grief as an interlude.
The in-between performance.
Where shoeless days, wandering forests—
meet
black-dressed, paired farewells.

Where velvet curtains close and draw,
a symphony has long prepared
(for you).

Percussion slices into silence.
Clarinets hum in minor tune.
The bass joins in—they’ve been appointed.

Welcome to Grief’s Interlude.

The music plays now just for you.
Regret takes center stage.

What wasn’t said.

“What could I do?”

The music begins to fade.
I guess it’s time we see the view
from our heart’s balcony.

Crossing legs and leaning in—
anticipating more…
A special place for all our kin
is bursting from our core.

Cymbals reach the back of room.
The flutes play loud and low.
The composer pulls a handkerchief—
tears and sweat compel this show.

You feel so sorry.
You feel alive.
You feel memories—sharp and sore.
They’re taking bows.
The act has closed.
Another’s passing through death’s door.

Welcome to Grief’s Interlude.

Blue hued skin from across the room.
I can tell that you’re trapped in a daze.  
Though, you’re a stranger to me and I don’t know your name—
The location we share is telling.

Blue hued eyes that miss and meet mine.
Inside, I shutter and gasp.
For those blue eyes, one of which is blind.
There’s a story that will help time pass.

Two chairs and a clock tick-tock, tick-talks.
We chat in the evening bloom.
No phones blue-hue to trap and consume,
It’s only just Me and You.