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Monday, January 13, 2014

All This Ocean

I cry
just a little every day
For all that has vanished
Out of my life
And into death

Though, it's important
That this be explained:

My tears are not complaints;
For on them sails a ship
Of gratitude;

A ship that would
Be nothing
but rust
And  shame
With a faded name
If it weren't for all
This ocean
 that waves
to your eclipse.

This grief is no anchor;
It's a northern glow--
A stamp on the upper
Right corner of the sky.

When I mail
My RSVP
To your memory's sweet invitation,
On the strength of the wind
This pain will fly.


7 comments:

  1. I think this fits the definition of "bittersweet." Thoroughly enjoyed it.

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  2. I don't know how or when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I have become more concerned with those sitting in the gallery that whomever has the perceived misfortune of laying in the box. I hope that makes sense, because I don't know if I can really explain it...

    Love what you brought to the table here. You make me happy.

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    Replies
    1. I love, love, love this comment. It made perfect sense to me and I agree completely with the sentiment.

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    2. Yes! I know exactly what you mean!

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