This poem was written in response to a challenge to write a poem about a person who had just lost someone dear in a car accident. It came out rather differently than I expected! 

So many questions.
I hear no answers.
The long grasses sway, bending , rustling.
What do they say?
The leaves in the trees dance and flutter
But I cannot discipher their message.
The clouds float serenely, watching but silent.
No secrets revealed.
I turn to the brook as it beckons with ripples
of silvery elegance, gently teased
by the balmy breeze. 
I hear no answers .
So much beauty, masking pain.
Nothing will ever again be the same.
In every corner, shadows lurk,
faceless threats to the negligent and unwary.
Invisible, ghost-like, these shadows take refuge
in a world of trickery, deception and cruelty.
Hiding the truth amidst rainbows and glory.
But I hear no answers to ease my pain.

She was young.
Will her truncated life be renewed?
Like the burgeoning springtime;
Each year fresh and virginal,
bursting with anticipation, excitement,
every small object a source of delight.
Will there be an Act Two?

For this falsity reminds me of life, the huge stage.
We think we have direction, control and a will
But we haven’t rehearsed enough,
expecting more time.
Expecting a run; time to get it right.
No one expects closure , not on the first night.
 How long will the pain continue to absorb
 every cell of my body: every innermost thought?
 Will faith return, in the place of my friend?
 Will the world become brighter as time heals all?
 A cliche I know, but others have testament
 which supports the unlikely, restoring some hope.
 So I listen to the gurgling of the swollen brook.
 The answers I seek, I may never find here.
 I have to turn inwards, look beyond what I see
 For I know that the answers must come from me.
 There was no good reason, wrong place and wrong time.
 No one to blame and her driving was fine.
 Nature is arbitrary, a cruel keeper of fate.
 So my questions remain, unanaswered, persistant,
 Leaving echoes, and pain in a background dream.
 I miss you so much, but I have learned something too.
 Substance is illusionary, a prop, paper thin.
 The answers I seek, are born of the soul.
 The answers I seek are within.
  © DF2007

Photograph: Babbling Brook,  courtesy of Seadave

Blogged with Flock


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