Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poems are mysteriously personal. As the poet Zaynab writes: “Everyone goes to the same poem, at the same time, same point, same verb, the difference is the feeling”. I choose not to share the backstory of this poem that I have just written. Bring your own story to it. That’s what makes poetry so intimate and flexible. And write yourself a poem. It’s a beautiful thing to be vulnerable with yourself.
I thought by your absence,
That you were long gone.
No longer tethered to the past.
Fully free and ensconced in a life
Foreign to any of us.
But now I see that by you following her,
So quickly into the unknown, that
You were more attached to her,
than any of us.
The cords were never cut.
Such a brave front you both liked to carry,
to shelter your bruised and vulnerable and wounded hearts.
When you soon meet again,
the bravados will have fallen,
and the healed hearts will be as One,
with all of the other healed hearts,
that beat soundly and steadily,
for the whole of us,
beyond the veil.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.