This quilt we shared
has become heavy with sadness,
damp with tears since your passing.
Rips and tears, unrepaired,
are now gaping holes
of stark loneliness, each one
a wouund, a near-death
of the soul.
This quilt, once a shelter
from world’s cruelty,
now bleeds grief
into every night.
Where is the magic needle,
To sew up the gaps ?
Where is the thread of kindness,
the stitches that heal the heart ?
I huddle and shiver beneath
this thin reminder of past joy,
a gift of love given, then
suddenly snatched away.
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC
This quilt we shared
has become heavy with sadness,
damp with tears since your passing.
Rips and tears, unrepaired,
are now gaping holes
of stark loneliness, each one
a wouund, a near-death
of the soul.
This quilt, once a shelter
from world’s cruelty,
now bleeds grief
into every night.
Where is the magic needle,
To sew up the gaps ?
Where is the thread of kindness,
the stitches that heal the heart ?
I huddle and shiver beneath
this thin reminder of past joy,
a gift of love given, then
suddenly snatched away.