Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1947025-Messages
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Dark · #1947025
How do you deal with a loss?

The hiss of water on the sand
slowly abrades the tumbled land.
The wind swept dune grass adds its hum,
waves beat a rhythm and become
a melancholic symphony.

I walk the shore, immersed in loss,
the world around me turned to dross.
Once seen, beauty and purity
have faded to obscurity,
my path filled with uncertainty.

Her final day, I hid my fear
to give her strength. The end was near.
I prayed to God to ease her pain,
and yet my pleas were all in vain
as she awaited death’s cold kiss.

Venomous thoughts! How could I ask
for my release from this last task?
I turned away from vows I made;
I could not stay. I was afraid
as courage failed. I was remiss.

My cries are uncontrollable;
my sorrow inconsolable
as I collapse upon the ground
and darkness sweeps in all around.
There’s no escape from my own hell.

The blackness finds a hold, within.
There is no penance for my sin.
Despair’s harsh whisper calls to me
to end it all; to set me free.
Only my blood will break this spell.

Amidst the flotsam, my hands find
a broken bottle. In my mind
this is the message I’ve been sent.
With my head bowed, I give assent.
I watch the glass carve into me.

The pain runs deep as I engrave
EVIL’, branding me a slave
to my own failings as a man
who rejects the master plan
of some heartless divinity.

The hot red flow serves as a balm
and, suddenly, within the calm
I’m aware that all’s gone silent,
wind and waves no longer violent.
I look and see ... infinity.

The sea’s like a shining mirror.
I look within it; coming nearer,
a mist from which I see arise
a shape that brings tears to my eyes:
the one I failed in time of need.

This time I do not run in fear
but stand my ground as she draws near.
I am prepared to pay my debt,
my failing I cannot forget.
What ere she asks, I will accede.

She lifts her arm and points at me
as light erupts beneath the sea.
I look and see a man’s torment,
a hollow shell, emotion’s spent,
with a word carved on his chest: LIVE.

I close my eyes, the message clear
from those who’ve gone to those still here.
The load we bear is ours alone.
There is no reason to atone
but always reason to forgive.

The hiss of water on the sand
slowly abrades the tumbled land.
The wind swept dune grass adds its hum,
waves beat a rhythm and become
a song of hope reborn in me.

An entry for the August round of "Invalid Item

dross - waste matter; refuse
remiss - failing in what duty requires

Thank you for taking the time to read my poem. Please, as long as you’re here, leave a comment. Criticisms, thoughts, reactions, yes – even praise – are all equally welcome *Smile*.
© Copyright 2013 🌓 HuntersMoon (huntersmoon at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1947025-Messages