Grief's canvas stretches wide and bare
A blank slate waiting, with no one to share
The brushstrokes of memories, once vibrant and bright
Now muted and faded, in the dark of night

The paint of pain, a deepening hue
A color that clings, to all I once knew
The strokes of sorrow, bold and free
A portrait of longing, for what used to be

The process of healing, a slow reveal
A layering of emotions, a complex feel
The colors of love, still shining through
A radiant glow, in all I once knew

The subject of my heart, a beloved face
A masterpiece of memories, in a sacred space
Though faded and worn, the love remains
A portrait of devotion, through joy and pains

The final brushstroke, a gentle touch
A whisper of acceptance, a heart that's too much
The portrait complete, a story told
A testament to love, that never grows old

In this masterpiece of grief and love
I find solace, sent from above
A reminder of what was, and what will be
A portrait of devotion, for all eternity.

Grief's heavy mist descends upon my soul
A sorrow so profound, it takes its toll
Like autumn leaves, joy withers away
Leaving emptiness, night's dark gray

Pain's sharp edges cut through every breath
A constant ache, a hollowed depth
Longing to turn back time's relentless hand
To hold what's lost, in a fading land

Tears fall like rain, a deluge of pain
As memories haunt, like a refrain
Echoes of laughter, now taunt my mind
A bittersweet reminder, forever left behind

In this dark valley, I search for a way
To navigate the shadows, night and day
To find solace, a respite from the pain
And learn to live with the ache, again and again

Grief's journey is long, winding, and slow
But even in darkness, seeds of hope grow.

Speak truth to power,
And don't dismiss the facts.
Why insipidly focus on polls
Like the failing Times,
The Murdochian lies
And the Hedge Fund huskers
Do.
CNN is rudderless.
The media is fascist,
Bending facts to fit the frame.
There is no Venn Diagram
For comfirmative circles.
Don't treat the true and the false,
The outrageous and the normal
As glossed over good people on both sides.
The sides are not equally valid
Because the Post opines it so.

What ever happened to Valsa George ?
Not a word for years and of you I ask and do implore
Has she gone on to meet her designated  fate ?
Is it now of me to inquire
because it is now much too late ?
Will her words pass on as well ?
Dumped into the black hole of the internet's Hell ?

Oh , well !

What is will be
May your best be allowed to soar so free

“Are you okay?”,
my wife asks
when I cough.

“No. I’m fine.
Yes. I’m not”,
I respond,

stumping her
in the poetic irony
of words that

encompass the
yes and no
and the in between.

She flips the finger
at me and I return
the bird to the nest.

We go back to our life
and our tablets,
the drip, drip of my chemo
and I wonder about okay.

“No.  You’re fine.
Yes. You’re not.”,
the bag stares in response.

You
      may have tricked me,
                                                    but i
                              fooled myself.

              maybe,
                       hopefully,     

         ..maybe..

                                          these things

Are
                                                       for
The Best
                                                         in the end.