Why are they
here

why are we
here

am I really
here

mysterious
could be a word

but whatever name
or term

they're most beautiful
when much is left

to an unbridled
imagination


Whit Howland © 2020

Scars of the heart are the hardest to heal

Yet the greatest you can feel

To give yourself freely

To be released just as easily

I walked a mile searching for the sunset
but couldn't quite find it
the storm clouds tried to cover
the trees tried to hide
the darkness tried to smother it

but I still found slivers of color and beauty
covered in clouds
hidden behind trees
smothered by darkness
but still alive
still visible

is this what grief looks like?

darkness slowly eclipsing the beauty of life

I have stood under hot water,
Pinching skin,
Breathing in steam,
Begging my lungs to heave,
To sob,
To wail,
I'm empty,
Just steam and grief,
Lodged in a moment,
I cannot escape from,
I am not happy,
You don't believe me,
I am not happy,
I am not happy,
I am not happy,
I cannot weap,
But I am not happy,
Do not take my smile,
Do not call it love,
I am not happy.

Why oh WHY
would you choose
the death you did.
Leaving behind everything
you've created
In the midst of its growth.
Before its full bloom,
your loss cut the buds away.