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by Dagmar Wilson
Along the sidewalk
crosses stuck in to the ground...
by - Mr. Darcy
you will never know
of pain until you unearth...
But my wound is stubborn
And it doesn't want to be healed...
Red hot and long...
Marlboro cigarettes spark the only
light I've become accustomed to...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile.
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse.
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight.