Grief is like a sledgehammer,
Slicing through life indiscriminately.
The widow tries to hide her wound,
Like a mother cuddling her cub;
Instinctively, protectingly and lovingly.
But their darkness swallows the light,
And they fall deeper into the abyss.
Swollen eyes can only open with tenderness,
And a touch from a heavenly hand extended.
Warmth infuses the dead flesh,
Loneliness liquifies with love.
Intimacy is a potent life force,
That which cannot be known by the proud,
But only the downtrodden and deeply slumped,
Lacking life, tossed aside because their used date’s up,
And the technology has been upgraded to 17.20,
Though new life comes, silence is comforted by a tender embrace,
Life, re-formed, emerges,
And takes on another shape; begging to be discovered.
Silence can then be comforting and enlarging, only if you dare to sit and listen.