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You hate my poems
You say they take me from you
that they're pointless
a waste of time
maybe you're right.
You read them,
just the words as they fall,
and say you get nothing
just syllables.
I have lost count
of the sighs and eyerolls,
the you have no talents,
they sit in a memory box
along with the times you've asked me to stop.
Stop.
Just like that.
Stop pouring myself onto paper,
Stop looking for beauty in darkness,
Stop healing.
You prefer me broken, fragile, dependant,
the girl you took from nowhere to god knows where
a once pretty, broken thing
to hang silently from your arm
while you talk proudly of the soul that you saved.
You fear that my writing will end us.
I fear that my stopping will end me.
I hope he never makes me choose.
 Jul 2014 D Koroma
Paula Lee
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Call this assurance if you must;
But when it's time to say Farewell
To one you love, it's just plain hell.

There are no words, no healing balm,
To fill the void, to ease the calm;
And not a thing that one can say
Will drive the quick hot tears away.

We look upon the empty chair
And seek the one no longer there;
And so heartbreaking is the pain
We question if we'll meet again.

How grim indeed, if death should be
The Bitter End--- Eternity;
Just some vague dream conceived by Man
And not a part of any plan.

But God has taken such great care
To note the sparrow in the air;
His Love alone can cover all
And Mark a simple Sparrows' fall.

And if he cares for the birds that fly,
then he must hear My Anguished cry;
"Dear God, I yield my grief to Thee
For Thou alone can comfort me."
To Everyone who is struggling with Grief
 Aug 2010 D Koroma
Paula Swanson
Tears
and rain,
sit upon
my eyelashes.
One shows my pain, one washes it away.

The grey clouds are one with my breaking heart.
Shedding their pain
in tune with
my souls
cry

To
accept
that Grandma
is leaving me,
is easier to say than to live through.

Each slowing beat of her heart pierces me.
My second mom,
my best friend,
dying
now.

Her
grace and
wisdom will
stay with me still.
I am, today, the woman she molded.

Touching so many, giving of herself.
Angel on earth,
soon to be
going
home.
This is written in the poetic form of "Tetractys"  The scheme is a syllable count of 1,2,3,4,10...then reverse the count 10,4,3,2,1 and so on

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