Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Time is the great healer, I've heard said, it gets easier as you go along. Keep yourself busy, less time to think, others advised, well meaningly I don't doubt. But time has healed nothing, my son, it doesn't get easy at all: neither nights nor days, thinking of you and those dark hours, the last minute scenes, the negligence of those paid to care, and grief's usual wear and tear. Time just consolidates the pain and grief, brings it up close now the numbness has fled, the stark reality bites deep no matter how busy or occupied the head, and the final words scribbled down: your son is dead.
0
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
No Time Healer.
Time is the great healer, I've heard said, it gets easier as you go along. Keep yourself busy, less time to think, others advised, well meaningly I don't doubt. But time has healed nothing, my son, it doesn't get easy at all: neither nights nor days, thinking of you and those dark hours, the last minute scenes, the negligence of those paid to care, and grief's usual wear and tear. Time just consolidates the pain and grief, brings it up close now the numbness has fled, the stark reality bites deep no matter how busy or occupied the head, and the final words scribbled down: your son is dead.
A father talks to his dead son.
TerryCollett
Written by
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem