I feel as if I have to apologise for this post and it’s contents. In my defence, I usually have very low moods and those places are very, very dark. Not the sort of place anyone would really want to visit.
When I am in this frame of mind, the deepest depressions, I avoid writing anything as it’s not something people want to read but, as I started this page as a diary of sorts, I feel as if I don’t write down what I am feeling when I am in a very low mood then the diary is unbalanced. It shows the brighter, if only slightly, days but none of the dark, cold winter darkness of the ‘not so good’ days then it would be false. I would be lying to myself and to you. I don’t tend to lie as I feel as I am an honest person as there is and lying is something I abhor for very personal reasons.
The last of my conversations was to do with poetry and writing some more. I promised a friend (although I have no idea of who they are, never met them or chatted socially) or should I say a WordPress colleague that I would write one more poem. Well, the idea kept going around in my head, even in my depressed mood and this afternoon I had written two pieces that, although not technically poetry, were meant to.
The first one is about the loss of my mother which is a very, very sore point with me as we were so close and I was her only real friend.
My mum is dead.
Those abhorrent, poisonous words,
Haunting my every thought,
A bane. An anathema.
I will never see her again.
A repugnant, bilious truth.
The warm touch of her love.
Keen pain, knife of ice.
Shadows linger out of sight.
Jagged wound unhealed,
Vivid, clear memories a curse.
Severed, plucked from life.
Unripe fruit, sour and bile.
Pain keen, knife of ice,
Jagged wound, constantly weeping.
No warmth of love, Winter cold.
Consigned to Mother Earth.
There are actually three verses above but wordpress has made them a single block. I’m afraid I don’t know enough to stop it coming out as one verse.
I suppose my lack of reconciliation with my mother’s passing has not helped matter that were, quite honestly, very bad beforehand. My thoughts are often of her and I cry out for hours, the tears soaking my face and my top until I can cry no more. I feel as if the crying has emptied me and I am just an empty vessel waiting to be refilled.
My next verse, I cannot call it poetry as it isn’t, it’s just a jumble of words written by a person crying out for relief from their suffering.
The cold arms of despair and forlorn hope reach out
And offer the warmth of apathy and submission.
The lies and consequences of their embrace.
Forgotten, the shackles of reality loosened
And the dark, dark cloud that hovers ever closer,
Smothers the small flame of hope into a dwindling ember,
It’s light slowly dying as it’s host dies too.
I’ve gotten myself crying again so I hope that you see the other side, the more real side of me. Sorry to upset but the truth is the truth. I’ll say goodbye now to those who think I am totally unbalanced. You’re right, I am but thank you for your support. It has been therapeutic.
Sorry
YDx
life hurts 